


If You Tickle Us, Do We Not Laugh?

by small_but_mighty



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Artificial Intelligence, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 44,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8455378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/small_but_mighty/pseuds/small_but_mighty
Summary: Enjolras decided to ask the big question, “But do you think that they could feel? Like a human being can?”Courfeyrac replied, “They could be programmed to feel, couldn’t they?”(Android AU...Where Enjolras is awkwardly oblivious to how his android feels about him)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there. The other chapters are written but being subjected to final touches and the watchful eye of my lovely beta [lorriesherbet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lorriesherbet).
> 
> There are some warnings for language and not particularly gory violence. The title is from The Merchant of Venice.
> 
> I developed an interest with this idea and have searched far and wide in book, film and fic but just couldn't find it as I imagined. Then it occurred to me....I have the power to *sharp intake of breath* create.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

For the longest time Enjolras had assumed that machines were logical and rational, and all things unreasoning and counterproductive came from humanity. However, all his attempts at intervention, no matter how reasonable, were met with unwavering disregard and a weary, long-suffering sigh. Enjolras appreciated that there were indeed rational things that could be weighing on Grantaire but whenever he tried to address them in an attempt to find solutions or emotional balms, he was rebutted with indiscriminate haste.  


Grantaire sat face down at the breakfast bar, unmoving and unbreathing. Enjolras regarded him from the expanse of countertop next to the coffee machine, his eyebrows knitted together in growing concern. These moods were episodic and unpredictable. Enjolras had witnessed the spectacle on a number of occasions and, like history repeating itself, they were unrelenting when they took residence in Grantaire. Enjolras had explored many avenues of approach from ignoring it, to sympathising, to getting angry, to trying to solve it. While all elicited varying responses, none of them were positive and none led to a resolution. The sympathetic route was perhaps the worst of all. Grantaire seemed to have an extremely volatile response to Enjolras’ sympathy. He would grow suspicious and secretive, his eyes flickering for a path of escape, and then if Enjolras persisted Grantaire would have a disproportionate outburst. Enjolras, utterly unprepared for such a sudden attack, would become indignant and defensive. Warfare would ensue.  


Trying to rationally solve the problem had little traction as Grantaire refused to explain what was wrong. Outright asking him was near suicidal on the conversational spectrum. Enjolras had therefore taken to guesswork, with varying success. Initially he had assumed that something had caused Grantaire offense or upset but randomly guessing possible causes was futile and irritated them both equally. Then he guessed that Grantaire had some form of malfunction so when they went back to the GenTech building for Grantaire’s service, Enjolras asked them if they could check for a fault. The technician seemed to think that nothing was wrong with Grantaire. Grantaire himself refused to speak to Enjolras for almost a week after this, claiming it was unkind, patronising and treacherous to the highest calibre. Enjolras considered the investigation he had undergone as underhanded so found little grounds to argue. He grew quite ashamed that he had used the tactic. Meanwhile, other practical suggestions such as help groups, counselling and online forums were met with a laugh of low-grade hysteria.  


Ignoring the problem was a problem simply because Grantaire appeared to take offense to Enjolras’ negligence. He seemed to interpret it as a lack of care and would result in Grantaire sulking. Enjolras wondered whether it was a plea for attention all along but the more hands-on approaches were even worse than this one.  


Perversely, the getting angry approach appeared the most successful. While not particularly pleasant it did appear to get Grantaire to at least communicate with Enjolras. Yes, the communication was irate and often hurtful, but Enjolras had managed to glean some insight from these exchanges. The most hurtful being the revelation that Enjolras was someone Grantaire distinctly didn’t want to discuss it with. He was effectively cut out of the problem directly. Grantaire wouldn’t explain it because he didn’t want Enjolras to know and _why couldn’t Enjolras understand that_. Was Enjolras cut out because he kept getting angry at Grantaire over it? He was only getting angry because he was cut out. The issue appeared rather circular.  


How could he remain cut out when he was also berated for ignoring the problem?  


It was enough to frustrate anyone, and Enjolras had never prided himself much on his patience.  


History showed that the only real ointment was time. Grantaire would sulk and snap and mope for a week or so, Enjolras would walk on eggshells and all would return to normal for a couple of months.  


Enjolras sipped his coffee and considered his options.  


“Coffee?” he offered cautiously.  


Grantaire rolled his face on the granite countertop by way of shaking his head.  


Grantaire loved coffee. Naturally he didn’t need coffee and Enjolras was still not entirely sure where it went as Grantaire had never actually used a bathroom in the 6 years they had known each other. Enjolras had hypothesised incineration. He had never asked, nor did he plan to.  


The other thing Grantaire loved was alcohol. It didn’t appear to have a particularly strong effect on him, if any, but it appeared to be something habitual he had picked up somewhere. He wasn’t choosy on the sort or the quantity. Enjolras noted that 75% of Grantaire’s alcohol consumption was during the ‘depression’ week. He had wondered if it had a negative effect on Grantaire’s mechanics, all that fluid, and whether there was a causality dilemma in there somewhere.  


Grantaire only ate food in company due to social appearances; otherwise he would likely choose to maintain his liquid diet for all of time.  


Enjolras sighed, “What is your plan for the day?”  


Grantaire was silent for a time before mumbling an indistinguishable answer into the cold countertop.  


“Grantaire, you know I can’t hear that.”  


Grantaire looked up. “That’s sort of the point,” he replied coldly.  


Enjolras sighed again, before relenting a defeated, “Okay.”  


Grantaire bristled. A rain cloud was brewing and Enjolras never had the right umbrella.  


“Why do you look at me like that?” Grantaire asked.  


It is a loaded question with no correct answer. Enjolras, as usual, endeavoured to try, “Like what?”  


“Like that,” Grantaire gestured sweepingly at Enjolras.  


“I don’t know what you mean.”  


“You know exactly what I mean,” Grantaire accused.  


“You know, Grantaire,” Enjolras tried to stay reasonably light-hearted, “I really don’t.”  


“Oh, bullshit. The least you could do is fucking admit it.”  


Enjolras felt his barriers slipping, “Admit what? I have no idea what you are talking about. I asked you about your day, you basically told me to F-off and then I let it go.”  


Grantaire frowned, “You look at me like I’m this hopeless problem that you need to fix. Like I’m broken. You know how that makes me feel?”  


Enjolras didn’t know.  


Grantaire continued, voice level but icy, “Like shit. That’s what. Why can I do nothing right for you?”  


Enjolras is dumbfounded.  


“For me?” He paused as his rage built, “For me?! I have spent the last three days watching every word I say to you. No matter what I do, you find fault in it. Now I look at you in the wrong way? I have tried really hard to help but as soon as you fall into one of these moods there is nothing I can do that doesn’t offend you.”  


Grantaire rolled his eyes, “These moods? Like they’re some sort of-”  


“See,” Enjolras interrupted, pointing at Grantaire in allegation, “Offended.”  


Grantaire appeared momentarily appraising of this but then his eyes narrowed, “Can’t I feel how I want to?”  


Enjolras hesitated, reading into the finer points of the accusation, “I never said that and you know that I didn’t mean that. Don’t put words in my mouth. You can feel and do whatever you like. I have made it clear to you on a number of occasions that I will not dictate to you, nor will I force you to stay against your will. You are free to do whatever you want.”  


“‘Cept I’m not, am I?” Grantaire surmised.  


“Why not?”  


Grantaire just huffed and looked away. He didn’t meet Enjolras’ gaze again, his eyes roving off to the left.  


“Why can’t you just talk to me?”  


Grantaire just laughed bitterly, got up and left.  


***  


Three days later, Enjolras returned late to their apartment from a particularly dull day of poring over paperwork. He found Grantaire sat at the breakfast table with his friend Jehan. The pair were surrounded by mounds of leather bound books and loose leaves of paper, some of which had escaped to clusters on the floor. When Enjolras was studying law, Grantaire had studied linguistics, which is where he met Jehan. Jehan was extremely adept with languages, speaking at least five that Enjolras was aware of, but Grantaire was best of all. Not only could he obtain, remember and compute infinite words and their patterns but he could also look them up seamlessly with his unlimited access to the internet. If languages were the orchestra, Grantaire would be their conductor. He traversed the barriers of word, dialect and colloquialism entirely unchallenged and unperturbed. Hence why a career in translating books from one language to another was so well suited to him.  


Obviously Grantaire had the means to excel in anything he decided to do but he lacked the drive or ambition. To some degree, Enjolras appreciated this. Grantaire was incapable of owning property, technically being property himself, and therefore many of the usual human aspirations didn’t apply. Additionally, he was clearly intelligent but seemed incapable of the sudden forward lurches in thought that led to discovery or invention. Grantaire’s mind appeared to work best with a formulated structure which juxtaposed his disorganised workspace, casual tone and capricious moods. Most importantly he appeared to enjoy the books. Before translating them he would read them cover to cover, as a book should be read, treasuring the passages and laughing at the jokes. Scientists would argue that the task of translating the books was systematic with the pre-reading for context but Enjolras knew that Grantaire read them purely for pleasure. If he were nothing more than a machine then why would he do that? It warmed an already tender place in Enjolras’ regard.  


Jehan thought that Grantaire was a genius (although strictly speaking he was). He was awed by Grantaire’s ability and looked to him for guidance and advice. He was oblivious to what Grantaire was or why he was so capable. Despite this, Jehan appeared to be Grantaire’s closest friend, spending hours together reading, discussing and translating. It was a role Enjolras had long ago wished to uphold but, while still friendly for the most part, they appeared to lack the easy, unfettered to-and-fro of ideas and conversation that Grantaire enjoyed with Jehan. Enjolras suspected that the in-built inequalities of their relationship may have hindered the development of genuine friendship. Additionally, Grantaire’s unrelenting bouts of low mood only appeared when they were together, since no one else had reported them in Enjolras’ absence. It almost felt as though Enjolras were to blame to begin with. Sometimes it hurt to be reminded of all the ways he had failed, despite how desperately hard he had tried.  


As Enjolras entered, keys clattering offensively into the bowl, both looked up from their studies and greeted him. He returned the greeting automatically and began to potter about the kitchen, looking for what he might have for dinner. Enjolras generally left them to their studies, fulfilling the role of the amicable roommate. It wasn’t that he disliked Jehan per say, it was almost impossible given Jehan’s easy and approachable nature, it was just that every time he looked at them huddled together, heads bowed over a book, he felt a buried and distant part of himself rattling. It was nigh impossible to bond with a person the situation had him so polarised with.  


When Enjolras looked up from the contents of the fridge some minutes later he realised Grantaire’s eyes were tracking him watchfully. The initial greeting had not been out of place since they were in company, but considering that Grantaire had been ignoring him for the last few days the sudden attention was unexpected. This left Enjolras hopeful that the grey clouds were finally dissipating and they could return to their usual rapport. He was cautious of making these hopes too obvious and flocking to Grantaire, anxiously ready to be brought back under the fold. He had made this mistake before, and had been rebutted and treated to a rather heated argument about personal boundaries. Grantaire’s low mood manifested as irritable and sad, not malicious or aggressive. Enjolras found this hard to cope with and couldn’t help but pick at it like a scab, hoping to find smooth, healed skin underneath.  


Grantaire sat with his arms folded at his chest, elbows on the lip of the table and poised to observe Enjolras. On seeing that Enjolras had noticed him, he asked, “You’re back late. When did you get away?” It was asked with soft concern and interest. Enjolras was guarded.  


“7.30. Why?” His reply was perhaps a little too curt as something infinitesimal flickered across Grantaire’s expression.  


Still, Grantaire was undeterred, “Wanted to know. You coming to the end of the Mercier case?”  


Enjolras would be surprised that he remembered but Grantaire remembers everything. “Yeah. Just got to make some adjustments to the documents and proof-read.”  


“Okay. Cool. You guys finished things off quick,” Grantaire said in earnest, but Enjolras had given him too little to go on so the conversation runs to ground. On a normal day Enjolras would resume the conversation with his own questions about Grantaire but he was weary of misstepping as usual. He hurriedly made a sandwich and scarpered into his study with the excuse of not wanting to disturb them.  


He picked at the sandwich, since on reflection beef and cheese was not the most cohesive combination, while he set about the task he had detailed to Grantaire. It was a long document and he wouldn’t be finished tonight, perhaps not even tomorrow. He was already tired from a tedious day and his eyes balked at being made to resume reading. It was a necessary evil.  


He wasn’t sure how long had passed before there was a tentative knock to the door. It startled him and then he stared at the physical barrier as though perhaps the sanded wood could cast light on the source of the sound. He doubted it was Jehan, so then it must be Grantaire. At the delay, the knock came again, louder this time.  


“Come in?”  


A curly, brown head poked itself into the gap and said, “You okay?”  


Enjolras gawked at the floating head and blurted, “Err, yes.”  


Grantaire took this as a cue to actually open the door and cross the threshold. He regarded the heap of paperwork and the half eaten sandwich. “You seem kind of off. I reckon you should take a break. You’ve been working all day.” Enjolras almost wanted to laugh about the ‘seeming off’ comment but the unexpected display of concern quieted his criticism. Grantaire had approached the desk and was now surveying its contents with decisive command.  


Sensing Enjolras’ reluctance to stop, Grantaire asked, “Want me to help?”  


It was difficult to answer. If Grantaire helped, then the task would be done by bedtime. So, naturally the answer should be yes. However, Enjolras had a certain degree of pride. He didn’t want to crawl back to Grantaire at the first show of kindness but at the same time he feared it would only be out of malice and not principle that he would refuse. Additionally, the way Grantaire surpassed him with such obvious ease was somewhat embarrassing. This was his job and still Grantaire was more adept at it. Some days it was the force that drove him, the need to try harder in order to measure up but other days he felt defeated that his efforts would always come second to someone who essentially didn’t care about the legal profession.  


He was tired.  


He was ashamed to say that he had missed Grantaire.  


“That would be good,” he ventured. “But aren’t you helping Jehan?”  


Grantaire dismissed this with an easy wave, “He went home.” He had already seated himself and begun mapping the workspace, honing in on his starting point. Enjolras handed him a large section of the printed copy and went to describe the case but Grantaire gently halted him. “It’s okay,” he then tapped his temple in silent explanation. Enjolras watched, enthralled, as Grantaire’s eyes flitted over the page, 2-3 seconds a piece, before flipping to the next.  


Enjolras returned to his own pile and his own slow, human pace.  


They worked together quietly and flawlessly, seemingly never knocking or duplicating the others work. Enjolras is reminded of university and sitting together in the library or at their breakfast table, conquering vast amounts of work in short spaces of time. If Grantaire focused, he could make any task industriously efficient. When Enjolras’ dissertation deadline raced closer and he was buried in piles of spreadsheets and legal jargon, Grantaire had patiently organised his paperwork and proof-read the draft numerous times. He had seamlessly changed the layout and formatting so it ran more smoothly. He had brought coffee and delicious snacks. When Enjolras had had his final exams, he had tried to make flashcards but it was slow and laborious. When he woke the following morning he was greeted by beautifully decorated and playfully commentated flashcards, like The Elves and the Shoemaker. Then treated to hours of vigorous verbal testing, followed by practice papers.  


Whenever Enjolras tried to help Grantaire, Grantaire didn’t appear to need it.  


On one certain occasion Grantaire had been procrastinating for a written exam in Russian. In this context ‘studying’ referred to simply sitting and learning Russian right off the bat. Enjolras had asked, “I know I don’t really know the language but I could still help if you like. Get you started? I could write you some practice questions or make some mind maps.”  


Grantaire thought about this for a little too long.  


Enjolras had continued, “If you don’t need my help then just say so.” It had been terser than courtesy allowed.  


Grantaire had bitten his lip and replied, “Do mind maps help you?”  


“Well, yes. They help organise your ideas.”  


“But do they help you personally?”  


“Yes. I like them. I thought you might too; they’re structured,” Enjolras was aware of the misdirection but allowed it.  


The following day Enjolras had found a folder on his desk containing printed mind maps summarising his entire term’s material. Like the flashcards, they had been put together thoughtfully and attractively, carefully colour-coded with a key. This was the opposite of why Enjolras had offered his help. He had scolded Grantaire on wasting his revision time making Enjolras mind maps and that he should focus on his own studies. It had turned nasty, with him lecturing Grantaire on his priorities and that he should be more self-motivated. He regretted this. He had been jealous and too proud to say thank you. At the end of it all Grantaire had still seemed to think wasting time on Enjolras’ mind map whim was worthwhile.  


“Enjolras?”  


Back in his office Enjolras groggily realised he had been staring at the computer screen instead of proofreading his own legal document. He gazed about at the now tidy desk, his thoughts molasses.  


“What happened?” He mumbled.  


“It’s done,” Grantaire surmised. “I’ve highlighted the changes I’ve made for you to check. There’s 17 of them. The others were just wording and grammar.”  


Enjolras begun to reach for the stack, his fingers creeping shakily along the desk.  


“What do you think you’re doing?” Grantaire said in mock outrage.  


Enjolras cringed, assuming he had been mistaken in thinking things were back to normal between them but on seeing this Grantaire rested a hand gently on his shoulder. Enjolras felt a stuttering in his chest at the contact and didn’t push it off.  


“Enjolras,” Grantaire continued more softly. “I reckon you need to go to bed. It’ll be here tomorrow.”  


Enjolras just blinked in the stark light of the monitor. Grantaire’s concerned frown was illuminated in the strange glow. It was absurdly welcome after days of morose huffing and cutting replies.  


“Okay,” Enjolras finally allowed. “But I’m having a cup of tea first.”  


“Okay. What sort?” Grantaire asked without objection, “Earl Grey or Darjeeling? Maybe Camomile ‘cause it’ll help you sleep?” He was on his feet and heading to the door. Enjolras realised Grantaire intended to make him said cup of tea, as though the suggestion of wanting a cup was also the command to have it made.  


“Grantaire,” Enjolras snapped. “I can make my own tea.”  


“I know.”  


“So, what are you doing?”  


“I know you can do all sorts of things, Enjolras. Doesn’t mean I can’t do some of it for you.”  


Enjolras rubbed at his drowsy eyes, trying to brush away the sleep and his exasperation. “I shouldn’t have asked for your help.”  


Grantaire let out a groan and said, “Please, let’s seriously not argue about this tonight?”  


“I’m not arguing,” Enjolras retorted. “I was just saying that-”  


“We both know full well where it’s going though. You ask for my help, I give it to you, I offer further help and you decide it’s too much help and claim to regret asking for the initial help on the grounds that I am, ‘Not your slave’. Then things fall into either us both getting weird and apologetic, or an argument about your opinion on the nature of my existence. Either way it’s bad for everyone. It’s always awful. You’re tired and I’m offering to make you tea. There’s no hidden psychology. You’re welcome to turn down the tea and make your own. I won’t be offended. Just please leave it alone tonight.”  


Grantaire’s tone is placating and even, his stance open and a vague pleading in his expression. Enjolras is inclined to accept the peace offering and any other night he probably would have done but on the back of the last few days he is feeling particularly defensive.  


“Why? Because you’ve finally decided to talk to me tonight and don’t want me to go and spoil it again?”  


Grantaire stared in bewilderment before looking up to the ceiling with an accompanying sigh. Abstractly, Enjolras noticed that Grantaire himself seemed oddly tired but dismissed it since it was impossible.  


Enjolras continued, “Or are you just going to reproach me and then sulk and ignore me for days on end and then pretend like it didn’t happen, expecting everything to be back to usual when it suits you?”  


“It’s not like that.”  


“Then what is it like? Explain it to me.”  


“I can’t,” Grantaire muttered.  


“Why not? What have I done?”  


“You haven’t done anything. Why do you always think that?”  


“Because I am the one you always ignore and yell at. I’ve tried to help and the only answer left is that I’m the problem.”  


“There’s no problem, Enjolras, and if there were I promise it wouldn’t be you.”  


“There must be a problem. There must be something. If you tell me I can help,” Enjolras’ tone had lost its anger and taken on an imploring edge. “Can you not tell me because of the circumstances, because of how we know one another? Is it something at GenTech?”  


“No, no. Please, everything’s fine.” Grantaire really did seem tired, “Can we not fight? I won’t make the tea, sorry I offered.”  


“It isn’t about tea. Forget the tea.”  


“I know.”  


There was a pregnant silence as both parties appraised the conversation and built their defence.  


“Do you just not like me?”  


Grantaire deflated.  


Enjolras didn’t notice and resumed, “I can handle it, Grantaire. I know that the circumstances dictate that you should probably hate me. I’m prepared for it.”  


Grantaire mumbled something too low for Enjolras’ human hearing, and then said, “I don’t hate you. You’re being irrational. How is me offering to make you tea a symptom of hatred?”  


Enjolras bristled at being called irrational. “Tea? Why are you fixating on that? I’m talking about how you have treated me over the last few days, and on all the other occasions.”  


“You’re reading too much into it.”  


“So, you are criticising and ignoring me without a reason?”  


“I’m not ignoring you.”  


“Grantaire, I have a dictionary, you know. I’m not you or anything but I do know how to define a word.”  


Grantaire is left without an answer, penned in by the irrefutable logic of Enjolras’ point.  


“I just mean that it’s not what you think. You misunderstand.”  


Enjolras is surpassing his indignation and is now just angry, “I would if you talked to me instead of ignoring me whenever you decide something is too difficult to discuss. I know I get wrapped up in work and myself but I can be a good listener. What is the point if we can’t even communicate with one another, if you just push me away? Then you expect me to just literally forget it all happened. I know we’re all idiots to you but I’m a little more intelligent than that. Plus, I know you think I’m cold and only think about work but I do have feelings. I’m not a switch you can turn off and on at your convenience. I’m not a mach-”  


The words die in Enjolras’ mouth, even mid-rant he stopped but it was too late. Grantaire looked smaller than usual, standing in the middle of the cool wooden floor, his facial expression so transparently hurt. No one on Earth could look at Grantaire in that moment and suggest he was incapable of feeling. It was so raw and fresh on his previously calm face that his whole countenance was crumpling even by the mere idea. Yet, Enjolras had suggested just that. He wanted to turn back time, eat out his tongue, just accept the tea. Anything. They could be laughing right now over warm Camomile and instead he had picked and picked, until he hit Grantaire exactly in the place it hurt most. He had been thoughtless. If Grantaire didn’t hate him before he probably did now. Why shouldn’t he? Enjolras would deserve it in this case.  


Grantaire didn’t speak, his complexion looked blotchy.  


“Grantaire,” Enjolras tried to get the words out as quickly as he could. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”  


“Don’t,” Grantaire stopped him. “You don’t need to.” Then Grantaire backed slowly out of the room as though perhaps turning his back on Enjolras would result in it being stabbed.  


Once the door was closed, Enjolras buried his face in his palms, too tired for anything else.  


***  


Courfeyrac watched as Enjolras sipped on a tepid cup of coffee, his eyes with bags beneath and a noticeable red rim.  


“Did something happen?” Courfeyrac asked cautiously, not wanting to pry.  


They were sitting in their shared office, the digital clock reading 9:46, and so far Enjolras had only managed to croak a ‘Good Morning’ as he arrived late at 9:11.  


Enjolras knew that Courfeyrac was a good enough friend that they could spend the best part of an hour in silence without undue awkwardness. They had been lucky to both secure a job in the same law firm after university and had not been separated due to the exemplary work ethic they had when together. Enjolras feared his employer wouldn’t be seeing much of that today.  


Courfeyrac had asked out of concern at this stage.  


“I,” Enjolras paused. “I had a long night.”  


“You didn’t try to finish the paperwork by yourself last night?”  


He could easily lie and put it down to an all-nighter but instead, “No. It’s basically finished but that’s not why. I fought with Grantaire.”  


Courfeyrac seemed both relieved and troubled all at once, “Again?”  


Enjolras scowled, “We haven’t fought in ages.”  


“What about last week then?”  


Enjolras was surprised at how astute Courfeyrac was, “How did you know?”  


“You were grumpy.” He doesn’t elaborate, as though he viewed a grumpy Enjolras as synonymous to him having fought with Grantaire.  


“Well, anyway. That wasn’t really a fight, just…something else. This time I really fucked up. I said some things that were wrong. I don’t think he’ll forgive me.”  


“He’ll forgive you,” Courfeyrac said, absently, as though commenting on the weather, the subject too commonplace and interchangeable for further thought process.  


“Why do you say that?”  


“Oh, I dunno. Because he just will,” Courfeyrac shrugged. “It’s Grantaire. He’ll always forgive you.” Enjolras hated that this could be deduced so easily but also that it was possibly right. It played into all the fears he had about their relationship, fears that Grantaire was just there out of servitude.  


“He shouldn’t though.”  


“Enjolras, I betcha it wasn’t half as bad as you make out. What did you even say?”  


This posed a problem. Enjolras couldn’t tell Courfeyrac in earnest. Sure, he could repeat what he had said but Courfeyrac would reply with _‘Machine? But why would that offend Grantaire?’_ and the context, and therefore the horror, of the situation would be lost on him. Enjolras sometimes wanted to tell, it nipped at him. It would be a lot easier if people knew and then they would understand their oscillations between friendship and antagonism. Then he could sit and rant to Courfeyrac while he tugged at his own hair and finally have someone to share in the enigma that was Grantaire’s personality.  


He couldn’t tell, the confidentiality agreement he signed over 6 years ago saw to that.  


Enjolras lied, of sorts, “Oh, I only demeaned the very fabric of his being.” He let his head fall into his crossed arms.  


“That bad, eh? A mere hiccup. He’ll forgive you. It’s pretty much a universal constant.”  


Courfeyrac also knew Grantaire from uni. He was to Enjolras as Jehan was to Grantaire. Hence, while unaware of what Grantaire was, he was privy to the ongoing drama.  


“He wasn’t even there when I got up. He had already made his escape,” Enjolras peeked out of his arm fortress. He saw an odd expression on Courfeyrac’s face and added, “What?”  


“Oh,” Courfeyrac waved a flippant hand. “Nothing.”  


“What?” Enjolras insisted.  


“Listen to yourself. You’re like an, and I really do hate to say this as I hate the saying, an old married couple. There, I said it. You two are like chalk and cheese,” he frowned. “No, like salt and pepper. Just not the band.” He sighed, “What I mean is that, sure, you argue but tomorrow or the next day or whenever you’ll be back to your usual, sort of dysfunctional, sort of ingenious, friendship.”  


Enjolras was halted at the mention of the word couple. He was glad his face was half covered by his arms as he was certain it had turned a shade of scarlet. He dreaded to think how much Courfeyrac noticed about himself and Grantaire.  


Enjolras bit his lip and tried to put up a defence, “What on Earth gives you that impression?”  


“Every single aspect of every single part of the subject. So, yeah, like pretty much everything.”  


“What do you mean by dysfunctional?” Enjolras chooses to ignore the now playful baiting.  


“The fact you have to ask,” Courfeyrac knowingly chuckled. “Anyways, I’ve meant to ask for a while now but how did you even meet?”  


While they had not advertised it, their closest friends had soon figured out that while everyone else met at the uni, they had met some time before. It was a difficult subject to broach.  


“Well, he needed somewhere to stay and since my parents had space, he came to live with us.” It was technically true.  


“So, they adopted him?”  


“Well, no. We were both over 18.”  


Courfeyrac, sensing that Grantaire’s reason for moving in with a strange family could be sensitive, decided to move the conversation back to the Mercier case. Enjolras was infinitely grateful.  


It was difficult to read over Grantaire’s corrections with their witty comments in his familiar slanted hand.  


***  


Enjolras’ first real presentation of a lengthy legal document was on his eighteenth birthday. His parents had informed him, joyously, that they had a surprise present for him. Not a fan of surprises, Enjolras did not have high hopes for the gift nor his own reaction to it.  


His parents were wealthy. Not Professor Higgins in _My Fair Lady_ wealthy but Daddy Warbucks in _Annie_ wealthy. Enjolras’ mum worked in real estate – real, real estate not _Homes under the Hammer,_ real estate – and Enjolras’ dad worked in business, AKA making money and lots of it. Enjolras’ older brother appeared to work on recreational sports and his tan. In light of all of this Enjolras had learnt that his parents’ idea of a good gift was slightly more elaborate and expensive than he deemed justifiable or necessary. This occasion was by no means an exception.  


On the morning of his birthday, he was ushered downstairs and into the cavernous and gaudy living room. His birthday was in late March but it was grey outside and rain could be heard beating onto the glassy ceiling of the adjacent breakfast room.  


On the plush but uncomfortable sofa sat two unknown figures. One was tall, balding and finely dressed in a dark grey suit. He stood at Enjolras’ approach and shook his hand formally but dispassionately. The second figure remained seated, solemn and out of place in the illustrious house wearing his jeans and light grey sweatshirt. Enjolras took the seat opposite at the first man’s indication and the other’s bright blue eyes tracked him, wide but guarded.  


“What’s going on?” Enjolras asked, his parents had seated themselves in two burgundy armchairs while his brother loitered at the doorway.  


“Your present,” his mother replied hintingly.  


Enjolras looked to the two figures for further instruction.  


The smartly dressed man began, “Hello Enjolras. I am Mr Newbridge. I am a lawyer working for a company called GenTech. Have you heard of it?”  


Enjolras replied that he hadn’t.  


“We work with highly advanced and ground-breaking technology and your parents have been kind enough to buy you one of our most desirable products. I am afraid there is some paperwork we have to do before you can enjoy your gift.” The man opened a briefcase and levered a thick wodge of pristine papers onto the coffee table between them.  


“Firstly, could you sign this confidentiality agreement?”  


Enjolras read and then signed it.  


“Excellent.” Mr Newbridge beamed, “We may now speak more openly. This is R-19." The man gestured casually to the other stranger, who appeared unfazed by the bizarre address.  


"Pardon?" Enjolras asked the younger man, "That's your name?"  


The boy looked at Mr Newbridge as if for permission to answer but Mr Newbridge ignored it and replied himself, "Yes. That's his name. Of course you may rename him to whatever you prefer. Most do." Enjolras already felt distinctly uneasy with this manner of speech but Mr Newbridge obliviously continued. "R-19 is a highly sophisticated machine designed to replicate human behaviour and cognitive routine. I will not bore you now with the technical details as his specifications are all in the paperwork but in conclusion he is what you would know as Artificial Intelligence. He can understand, learn and adapt. I feel I should explain early on that he is programmed to not harm humans and to obey you so there is no reason to feel-"  


"Obey me specifically?" Enjolras interjected, increasingly troubled by this Intel.  


"Yes, he is registered to you and is therefore programmed to obey you."  


"How?" Enjolras suddenly feels a heavy foreboding.  


"Well, it is customary in particular social circles to gift an android, if you will, to a child on their eighteenth birthday." Enjolras looked to his parents, who smile reassuringly. "This way, in adulthood they will always have a companion to obey, assist and protect them. On your sixteenth birthday your parents came to us with certain characteristics and information, and with this we designed and programmed R-19 to suit you. Therefore, it is you that he obeys and protects. Additionally, before presenting him to you today he has spent over a year at our training facility learning about human behaviours and skills that may best suit him to be your companion."  


Enjolras looked at the boy sitting opposite him. On reflection, he was probably in his late teens but he appeared rather small while quietly sitting amongst the tasselled cushions. During the speech he had not appeared offended or unhappy about the manner with which he was discussed, simply complacent and perhaps apprehensive. Enjolras felt utterly sickened by it. _Obey you._ The words rang in his head. _Programmed to suit you. Enjoy your gift._ This was slavery and Enjolras felt queasy at the idea that this poor boy had been created and trained to belong to him. It was beyond appalling; it was deplorable.  


"What if I don't want a companion?" he asked as diplomatically as he could.  


"Well-" the man began but was cut off by Enjolras' dad.  


"Enjolras, we've paid for him now. You may as well keep him."  


The commerce-orientated reasoning was ugly to Enjolras. "But you've bought me a slave?"  


Both of his parents seemed aghast at the allegation but Mr Newbridge was worryingly untroubled by the comparison.  


R-19 didn’t appear to outwardly react at all.  


Mr Newbridge stepped in, "While that is a reasonable analogy, it is inapplicable as R-19 is not a human being. Think of him as your servant."  


Enjolras felt his vision run red. He abruptly sprung up and fled the room, pushing past his brother and into the hall then out the front door. This was problematic because it was raining heavily, resulting in him standing on the driveway looking for cover and then standing under the vast porch. Not the exit he had hoped for.  


His brother appeared in the front doorway and watched a now damp Enjolras shrewdly before saying, "I got one on my birthday too, you know? You've met him."  


It is then glaringly obvious that Hugo, his brother's best friend, was the person in question. Enjolras recalled asking Hugo about his parents and getting an evasive answer, wondering why he lived in one of their spare rooms like another sibling, why he followed his brother like a shadow but appeared to be fairly unattached to him emotionally. The jigsaw fell into place, piece by piece.  


"You know," his brother added flippantly, "he was designed for you. If you don't keep him, I wonder what happens to him?"  


It wasn't really a question. It was the acknowledgment of a death sentence. Enjolras' stomach lurched. An entire person had been brought into existence merely to live under another's will. His will. He was the jailer and he had no choice in the matter. R-19 would undoubtedly be destroyed, Enjolras knew enough about the extravagant and entitled lifestyle of his parents to know this. His dad had spoken as though the boy was an action figure or a miss sold ice cream at the beach. R-19 was nothing more than a thing, a purchase, a transaction. Enjolras had never felt so disappointed in his parents. It made his heart hurt.  


Regardless, he schooled his expression and marched back inside to the urgent whispers between his parents and the lawyer.  


He took his seat and asked, "What happens to R-19 if I choose not to accept the gift?" Naturally, he had already guessed the answer but he wanted to see the reaction.  


No one addressed him but instead the three continued to discuss this, apparently, bizarre turn of events.  


The only one to look at Enjolras was R-19. Enjolras met his gaze and wished he hadn’t because once he’d caught the boy’s gaze he could no longer look anywhere else. Outwardly it appeared that R-19 did not react to the question, his expression remained cool and impartial. However, he looked only at Enjolras and through this action it was abundantly clear that he had already drawn the same dismal conclusion. His face showed no signs of pleading, long used to living in a world where his fate was dictated by other people and where his intervention fell on deaf ears; instead it was assessing. He appeared to take in the measure of Enjolras, to take in the measure of the individual who alone held the power to end his existence or become his sole master. _So, you are the one who owns me._ The boy's countenance gave no indication as to the conclusions he had drawn. Enjolras wanted to squirm under the look so weighted it held an entire being in its balance but he was like a charmed snake, a butterfly pinned to a Victorian cork board, trapped by the importance of the moment and by the careful, blue eyes. Slowly R-19 blinked as though choosing to release Enjolras.  


"Don't answer that. Don't bother. I don't want to know," Enjolras begun before he formally addressed the other three. "I want to make something very clear. I totally and unwaveringly disagree with this. I think it is unethical, unnatural and cruel. You have created Artificial Intelligence but instead of using the discovery for the betterment of mankind, you have used it for gross capitalist gain by selling vastly overqualified slaves to bored rich people. Furthermore, by buying me such a slave without allowing me to choose otherwise, you have not only made me into a jailer but also a slave myself, a slave to commerce and the objectification of others. I am shocked and disgusted that you thought this was an appropriate gift, and I know you will think me ungrateful but on this matter I can't be remorseful. However, I will sign all the documents and I will keep R-19 because I dread to think of the alternatives. He shouldn’t suffer because of my objections, but I assure you that they are numerous and justified."  


Enjolras finished and glared at his parents, daring them to argue. The expressions they wore were sombre but generally impenetrable.  


Mr Newbridge was grotesquely satisfied with this outcome, proceeding to prepare the paperwork.  


R-19 seemed unchanged by this, which was perhaps the most unsettling of all. It was as though his very existence was abstract to him, too intangible and unalterable to trouble over. The decision lay with someone else. His preference between death and living as a slave to a stranger he just met was inconsequential. He lacked control or a voice, and incidentally lacked all sense of effect. He merely sat and regarded the proceedings with haunting patience.  


Enjolras' parents lingered while he read and filled in the colossal amount of paperwork. Enjolras had said his piece and made his resolve, and yet there were many aspects detailed in the paperwork that left him feeling decidedly unwell. The details about R-19 were long but inoffensive, but the details on Enjolras' rights over him were staggering. Effectively R-19 had no rights at all and Enjolras was free to use or treat him how he pleased. He could be unthinkably cruel or mercifully benevolent and would not be penalised either way. Enjolras thought of all the people in the world and thought of how many undoubtedly abused this. He glanced at R-19 and found a strange relief that at least he could act as some form of sanctuary. He had a responsibility to ensure he was good to R-19 and showed him that not all humans were money orientated or possessive.  


Once the paperwork was complete almost an hour later, Newbridge drove off and the family trickled into other rooms, leaving Enjolras sitting opposite R-19. He shuffled in his seat. He was yet to hear R-19 say a single word and the heaviness of the situation weighed on him. They were stuck with each other now and it would be a lot easier if they could get along to some degree. More than this, Enjolras, despite his objections, was utterly fascinated by R-19 and found that he was already desperate for R-19 to like him and for them to converse on many things. He had this perverse sense of responsibility, even duty that he would be the one to break the cycle. If you treat something like a pet then effectively it is a pet, and Enjolras would love nothing more than to prove that R-19 was an autonomous person.  


"So?" he began falteringly. "I am Enjolras, as you...probably know." R-19 nodded in acknowledgement. "What should I call you?"  


R-19 blinked at him and slowly raised his eyebrows, "R-19." He said slowly, as though perhaps he was worried about Enjolras' cognitive function.  


"Okay. If that is what you want," Enjolras allowed. "I just thought you might like to choose a name."  


"It isn't about what I want."  


Enjolras sighed. It was going to be difficult.  


"We'll come back to that," he concluded.  


***  


Reminded of the occasion by Courfeyrac’s question, Enjolras mulled over how he had met Grantaire as he briskly walked home in the early autumn dusk. Obviously it had been unconventional and obviously it had put in place a number of aspects of their relationship. Grantaire belonged to him and regardless of how obstinately Enjolras tried to separate himself from that fact with leniency and compassion the fact still remained.  


In the beginning this had been a significant problem but once Grantaire appeared to have established that Enjolras hadn’t been joking when he had said Grantaire was free to make his own choices, things had grown easier. Somehow also much harder. There was so much red tape that technically speaking Grantaire couldn’t do as he pleased, so absurdly had to be commanded to do so, which on some level defeated the whole point. Enjolras often felt that his need to be considerate was actually self-indulgent and that Grantaire would just prefer to be ordered around to avoid differences in opinion and for mere ease. Enjolras wanted Grantaire to be allowed to make his own choices but Grantaire didn’t always appear to want this himself, leading to a problematic dilemma. The tea debacle of the night before was typical of this. Everything felt like an unnecessary power struggle where neither necessarily wanted to be the one in charge of the other. The loop would continue indefinitely as a substantial wodge of paperwork in a pristine office somewhere dictated that it had to. Still, Enjolras both hoped and dreaded the idea of Grantaire taking his offer to leave. He wanted Grantaire to be free but he disliked the thought of being without someone he had grown so reluctantly reliant on, someone he had grown so very fond of.  


He felt morbid as he headed to their apartment.  


This was intermingled with frustration at the continued lack of explanation to Grantaire’s moods and the bitter taste one gets when they know they must apologise but find it something they are unaccustomed to.  


Then again, Enjolras felt as though he was doing it a lot lately.  


Entering the apartment, Enjolras did a quick recce of the area to discover Grantaire holed up in the study, on the sofa, wrapped in a quilt he had crocheted in a matter of days during a post adult education course fad. Grantaire was particular to fads, his most recent being an obsession with brass rubbings. It involved a lot of church visits, stately homes and historical walking tours. On one tour they had been asked to leave as Grantaire’s constant stopping to rub chalk over paper covered relief work was holding up the octogenarians. Even though Enjolras had been embarrassed he couldn’t begrudge it due to all the student groups and protests he had forced Grantaire to attend at university. Grantaire didn’t really seem to notice, too involved in his own business, and this was endearing enough to leave Enjolras glad he had gone with him. He still wasn’t 100% sure what the point of brass rubbings were.  


Other previous fads included (but by no means a conclusive list) origami, caricature artwork, Hard Rock Café badges, knife juggling, novelty bird whistles, cuneiform, Charlize Theron movies, and hairdressing. Enjolras concluded that Grantaire was under stimulated by the usual human entertainments; it made sense given Grantaire’s innate abilities, if innate was even the word for them when someone was an android. Some of the hobby choices were unusual and short-lived but Enjolras had to confess that his hair had not looked better.  


In the duvet fortress in the study, Grantaire was jotting in a notepad, humming softly. Before Enjolras could announce himself Grantaire called out, without looking, “Hey. There’s a fresh batch of coffee if you wanted some.” It sounded perfectly amicable. Enjolras was not fooled.  


“Grantaire, I need to speak to you.”  


Grantaire peered around and regarded Enjolras from his feather-filled mane. He said, “Okay. Could you get us a coffee while you’re up though? Pretty please?” He then revealed his most mischievously jammy grin. Enjolras was slightly fooled.  


He fetched the coffee dutifully, puzzling over how cheerful Grantaire had seemed. It was the easiest his temperament had been for a fortnight.  


Back in the study, Enjolras delivered the coffee to a grateful Grantaire and sat gingerly on his swivel chair, wheeling in awkwardly to the sofa’s edge.  


“What’s up?” Grantaire said calmly, sipping the coffee heedless of its boiling temperature.  


Enjolras shuffled a little before he said, “I wanted to talk about what I said last night. Specifically, I wanted to apologise.”  


Grantaire squinted at him then replied, “Which part?”  


Enjolras barely hid his flinch. He knew that as usual his transgressions were numerous. “The part where I suggested you couldn’t,” he paused, searching for a kinder word.  


“Feel?” Grantaire offered, outwardly untroubled.  


Enjolras wilted and sighed, “Yes.”  


Grantaire waved him off, pushing coffee steam about in the air, aromatic and familiar. “I’ve been thinking about this, Apollo.” Enjolras wanted to hate the nickname picked up during Grantaire’s Greek Myth fad but instead he felt honoured to have been given one. “Why do you want to apologise anyhow? Because you hurt my feelings? It’s a paradox. If I can’t feel, then I can’t be offended and if I can feel then I’m not offended because I know you’re wrong. So, there. Nothing to be sorry for.”  


Enjolras frowned. Grantaire was capable of high levels of pragmatism when it suited him. In this case Enjolras presumed it suited Grantaire to be contrary since to not be offended based solely on logic was vastly unlike him.  


“That is not how it works.”  


“Sure it is,” Grantaire resumed his scribbling.  


“Feelings are not so easily defined. Knowing I’m wrong won’t always equate to your not being offended. You could, and have the right to be, offended regardless.”  


Grantaire looked up again, meeting Enjolras’ gaze searchingly. He seemed to read something else in Enjolras’ comment.  


Enjolras continued, slightly self-conscious, “Look, I didn’t come to start another argument. Please, accept my apology, even if you think it is pointless.”  


Grantaire shrugged, “‘Course I accept it, Apollo. It came with coffee. Now,” Grantaire added artfully, shoving the pen lid back on with his teeth, “Come and look at this.”  


What followed was Grantaire climbing out of his bedroom window while Enjolras stood awkwardly holding his coffee for him. When Grantaire gestured that Enjolras should abandon the mug and climb out himself, the protestations began.  


“We live on the second floor,” his voice shriller than he liked.  


“There’s a ledge, a big one and it’s not far,” said as though scaling buildings was boring and commonplace and Enjolras should really keep up.  


Enjolras peered out. It was true that there was a ledge about a foot and a half wide. He wasn’t consoled. Grantaire was nimble and catlike; Enjolras was more of a baby deer on an icy lake.  


Grantaire held out a patient hand, “Enjolras, you know I won’t let you fall. I promise.”  


Enjolras scowled but still took the hand, and allowed himself to be wedged through the open window until he was standing on the ledge. He boggled at the drop and stumbled towards the wall. It wasn’t even that high but it felt very real and very nauseating.  


“Grantaire,” he gasped. “What exactly is the point to all this?”  


“You’ll see,” Grantaire assured as he sidled along the ledge, gently taking a reluctant Enjolras with him. Enjolras, enjoying the sensation of Grantaire’s fingers knitted with his own, grew less reluctant. If Combeferre or Courfreyrac were told of this later they would have assumed Enjolras lying. Enjolras didn’t climb out of windows. Enjolras’ life was full of order, organisation and carefully planned protests for student rights. He was a human rights lawyer from a stuffy, old-money family who wouldn’t stop making new money and attending related galas. He had planned for a quiet evening. Grantaire was cut from an entirely different cloth. He was whimsical and therefore much of his life comprised of happenchance events and happy coincidence. Enjolras found this unexpected given Grantaire’s start in life. It was like Grantaire couldn’t help but rebel from regimentation, too bored of all the rules the slow, fragile human beings imposed. Enjolras often wondered how Grantaire’s mind was composed. Being a machine one would assume it was orderly and Enjolras suspected it properly was but that perhaps Grantaire was also rebelling from his own nature.  


“Really?” Enjolras scorned, as Grantaire prized open the sash window of the flat next door. Their own flat was on the second floor of a 19th century terrace, with one floor above them. This window belonged to the second floor of one terrace over.  


“What?” Grantaire replied with a sense of mischief.  


“We are breaking and entering?”  


“Enjolras, you’ll see.” Grantaire signalled for him to proceed and then bundled Enjolras inelegantly through the window and onto a hardwood floor. He leapt through himself without incident.  


Enjolras looked about himself, the space was vacant, the large room hollow and cold. He clambered up and surveyed the area under Grantaire’s watchful gaze.  


Before Enjolras could ask, Grantaire said, “Water damage.” He led Enjolras to what must have been the kitchen, it’s ceiling caved in and the flat above visible through the hole. The edges of the hole sagged and the room smelt of mildew.  


Grantaire quickly ushered Enjolras away and into a spacious room with an old fireplace.  


“So, what d’you think?”  


“What do you mean?” Enjolras lowered.  


“Of the flat.”  


“We have an identical one next door. One, conveniently undamaged.”  


“I know that but it’s been vacant for months now and will be for ages. I thought we could use it.”  


“For what, though?” Enjolras was strangely dazed by both the turn of events and his experience on the ledge.  


Grantaire shrugged, “We could use it for projects, or parties. Get some furniture. Even deckchairs or something. Could be sort of avant garde and edgy. Also, I’m kinda sick of using my bedroom as a darkroom.”  


Of all of the points raised, the last one seemed plausible. Grantaire had never overcome his fad of photography and he had morphed his bedroom into a lab. However, this was difficult to maintain and he was often moving furniture around. Grantaire didn’t sleep so the bed was only used as a prop or when he had ‘guests’. Grantaire was good at photography, good at capturing a scene. He was also good at drawing and painting but this was a sensitive subject. If you asked him to paint you a replica of the Mona Lisa he could, if you asked him to paint her in a party hat instead then he could, if you asked for a painting based on a photograph he could give you an imitation but if you asked him to paint you something original he couldn’t. It seemed to eat at Grantaire in a deep and visceral way. The fact he lacked this creativity directly contradicted his personality. Enjolras had witnessed many attempts at creating original works but it ended in frustration and a spiral into self-loathing. Subsequently, Grantaire had taken up photography and like many things he excelled at it. However, Enjolras perceived that Grantaire considered this an unsatisfactory compromise.  


In a sudden epiphany, Enjolras concluded that this must be what was causing Grantaire’s moods. Enjolras himself had never been creative in this way but he imagined that for someone who cared for art as much as Grantaire it was a thing of constant disappointment.  


It explained everything. Enjolras was the only person close to Grantaire who knew what he was and was therefore the only logical person Grantaire could express the frustration towards. Enjolras was sublimely satisfied with his own deductions. Suddenly this expedition next door was of the utmost importance. Grantaire needed to have his creativity fulfilled and if that meant breaking into the flat next door then so be it.  


“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Enjolras said.  


Grantaire went through a series of expressions, ranging from open surprise to suspicion and settling into a confused smile.  


“Really?”  


“Yes, I think it will be good to have a bit more space.” Enjolras made to survey the floor space, chartering their available assets. “We will be doubling our square feet but obviously it won’t last so we won’t be able to get too comfortable.”  


Grantaire caught up quickly and lurched into motion, “Of course. I won’t get too attached. I’m not planning on buying it or anything. We won’t waste time on decorating, and I’ll cordon off the kitchen. Health and safety, and all that.” Grantaire seemed suddenly very excited, like a child who had brought home a stray and was promising to feed it if they could only keep it. Enjolras found it rather charming.  


Together they mapped out their floorplan, Grantaire doing all measurements quickly and accurately by eye, and Enjolras covertly plotting how this could be made into something to help Grantaire more specifically. Plan ‘Get Grantaire a creativity studio and inadvertently cheer his whole demeanour’ was officially underway.  


However, the plan did encounter one major hiccup as they shuffled back along the ledge, namely Enjolras falling off of it. A pigeon startled into Enjolras’ face and Enjolras startled over the edge. Enjolras had been clutching Grantaire’s hand for balance and on toppling over found himself swinging by their conjoined arm, hanging limply. Grantaire’s feet had not shifted a single inch, planted in place as though physics was of little importance. He plucked Enjolras out of thin air and hauled him in through their open window. One minute Enjolras was tumbling in a flurry of pigeon feathers and an alarmed – and more than slightly humiliating – shout and the next he was sprawled on Grantaire’s rug, safe but bewildered.  


Grantaire shut the window behind him very deliberately and looked down at Enjolras with an undiscernible expression. Enjolras felt flushed and embarrassed, hurriedly getting up and instinctively brushing himself off. A part of Enjolras thought the situation called for companionable laughter but he didn’t really feel like laughing. He felt foolish, certainly, but that hadn’t stopped him laughing at himself in the past. Grantaire hovered by the window, clearly sensing Enjolras’ mood well enough not to crowd him.  


“Thank you,” Enjolras mumbled quietly. “I, I’m fine. I think I just need a second to compose myself. I’ll…” He trailed off, gesturing towards his own room. Grantaire nodded, an expression of concerned confusion on his face.  


Once alone in his room, Enjolras sat on the bed and allowed himself to settle down. There had been danger and Grantaire had saved him from it. It was simple enough and yet he felt strange about it in an indistinguishable way. At first he thought it could be embarrassment but it didn’t sit right. Enjolras had never prided himself on his physical poise so being seen as lacking in this way was not a sore point.  


Was it the fear? The truth was that he hadn’t had time to be afraid before he had been pulled to safety. Perhaps it was a lack of fear that troubled him. If he had been on that roof with anyone else he would have fallen and possibly died, and yet he was fine. The passing of something so momentous seemed so mundane.  


He wondered if it was the idea of being vulnerable in front of Grantaire but logically speaking everyone was fragile to Grantaire. It wasn’t necessarily vulnerability then but he did feel overexposed. Regardless, he had felt the need to draw himself away and gather up his feelings before talking about the incident.  


A while later there was a knock on the door and Grantaire timidly showed himself in, delicately carrying a cup of tea. On approach Enjolras realised it was Camomile and was reminded of his now superfluous outburst about having Grantaire make him tea.  


“For the nerves,” Grantaire downplayed. On receiving the cup Enjolras noticed that it was hot but not boiling, as though it had been made but that there had been a delay in delivery. “Can I sit?” Grantaire gestured to the lip of the bed.  


“Of course.”  


Grantaire sat and appeared to contemplate, before saying, “I reckon the flat next door isn’t such a good idea after all.”  


Enjolras was immediately outraged that Grantaire had so easily discarded something he had had such excitement for. “No!” He barked before he modulated his tone, not meaning to shout. It was hardly Grantaire’s fault that Enjolras fell. He continued more calmly, “You can’t. You were excited. It doesn’t matter whether I go there or not. You can still use it.”  


“Why on Earth would I want to use a flat next door by myself without you?”  


Enjolras felt a swell of hope at the words ‘without you’, as though it was something specific to them. He suddenly had a strange need for explicit elaboration on why Grantaire wanted him there. He felt like he should ask Grantaire to clarify. Clarify what, he wasn’t sure. Instead he said, “For your dark room?”  


“I can use my room. It’s no real problem.”  


“But what about the parties and the avant garde?” Enjolras pleaded.  


“How can I have a party when the only entrance is to shuffle along a sodding ledge over a 20-foot drop? It was a ridiculous idea in the first place and I want to apologise for putting you in danger. If I want to risk my own safety that’s one thing but it’s unacceptable to risk yours.” Grantaire is solemn, which is the polar opposite of what Enjolras had planned.  


“Don’t apologise. You-” Enjolras wavered, “you saved my life.” It sounded lame, like he was some Princess trapped in a medieval patriarchal society, in need of rescue from a valiant nobleman.  


Grantaire looked uncomfortable and as though he had a lot to say but settled on, in a slightly sardonic tone, “Well, I’m sworn to protect you, you know? I want your parents to get their money’s worth.” He had clearly meant it as a joke, likely to avoid addressing the damsel-in-distress dialogue, but it had been the wrong thing to say.  


Enjolras was horrified and began shaking with emotion. He couldn’t seem to decide which the predominant emotion was but, in an attempt to protect them both from the imminent explosion, muttered, “Please leave. I, I. Just leave.”  


Grantaire, seeming to realise immediately that he had caused offense, said, “Enjolras. I was joking. I’m sorry. I was mostly making fun of myself more than anything.”  


This only added fuel to the fire. Not only was there the implication that Enjolras was only worth saving out of duty but the blatant self-deprecation, intermingled with the inclusion of the money and ownership. It was the royal flush of hurtfulness in Enjolras’ view.  


“Do you really think so little of me?”  


Grantaire frowned, as though perhaps this interpretation had not occurred to him. “What?”  


“Money’s worth? Seriously?” Enjolras said, then fell silent and didn’t appear to notice Grantaire repeating his name in a bid to speak to him. He gazed about emptily, aware of a further reason for offense. It felt like a confirmation that Grantaire didn’t want to be there and, therefore, didn’t want him. It hurt to think about it.  


Finally, he spoke, “I’ve tried really hard to not be a burden to you, Grantaire. I’ve tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. I know that being stuck with me is not ideal but I would really appreciate it if you didn’t mock me for it.”  


Grantaire was flummoxed by this, “I didn’t suggest any of those things. Enjolras, I promise I was joking. It was tasteless. It wasn’t funny. I know that. I have no filter. I clammed up and I didn’t know what else to say. I promised I wouldn’t let you fall and I didn’t. You honestly think I’d let you fall? That’s bullshit. You don’t have to thank me for that and you shouldn’t go and assume I consider you some burden just because you needed help.” His tone changed, softened, “If anything I’m the burden, you never asked for any of this. I know that. I know that I’m some difficult, unruly ward you’ve been lumbered with. I don’t mean to be but I can’t seem to help it.”  


Enjolras regarded Grantaire carefully. He could see how Grantaire might make this misinterpretation but it didn’t hold any real meaning to him since he knew it to be untrue. The idea of Grantaire being a burden to him seemed wholly historical.  


Enjolras entertained the idea that he could have overreacted. Yes, it had been provoked but now Grantaire was looking at him with sad eyes and Enjolras felt like he was the cause. All he wanted to do was spend one evening without arguments and misunderstandings.  


Enjolras, cautiously as it was not their norm, put his arm over Grantaire’s shoulders and pulled him into a one armed hug. Grantaire let him and Enjolras could barely hide his delight. He told himself that it was solely to comfort Grantaire and had nothing to do with how his stomach had begun to flip-flop. He aimed for a degree of composure and teasingly said, “You are pretty unruly but I’m glad you’re here all the same.”  


Grantaire didn’t look up from his interknitted fingers, just replied with a small nod. Enjolras thought Grantaire might have leant into the embrace fractionally but he could have easily been mistaken.  


After a time, Enjolras was reminded to ask, “Grantaire, why is it that you forgave me so easily earlier? With the paradox?”  


“Because you didn’t have to ask,” Grantaire replied.  


***  


There had been another occasion in which Grantaire had saved Enjolras’ life. Enjolras had organised a demonstration outside the offices of a particularly unsavoury company. It was an ongoing story that had received press-coverage and Enjolras had decided that they should show their support, they being what Grantaire referred to as The Justice Club, seemingly a play on The Justice League. Everything had gone swimmingly and there had been a lot of widespread support of the event and a large crowd. Enjolras remembered being on a remarkable high, his friends around him, doing what he loved.  


Then everything had gone to hell.  


One minute everything was fine and then without warning a fight broke out amongst the crowd. It had started locally but became diffuse as more people got pulled into the vortex of violence. Enjolras had panicked for his friends and, foolishly stormed in amongst the combat, unarmed and unprepared. He was a figurehead and members of the crowd immediately singled him out. Human beings, lost in moments of madness, can do the most ruthless and senseless things. Enjolras hadn’t seen the broken shard in the man’s hand or the way it had thrust towards him with malicious intent. He had only seen as a dark head leapt between them.  


The attacker, realising their action, fled.  


Grantaire had turned and looked at Enjolras with feral ferocity. He was furious. A blur of indiscriminate attack on anyone who came anywhere near Enjolras followed. Enjolras hadn’t considered how Grantaire would be in a fight but his movements were gracefully efficient and his foresight of his opponents’ actions was precise. He was like Robert Downey Jr. as Sherlock Holmes, calm and exacting. He was also fearless, untroubled by the idea of being hurt. Plus, he punched like he was Wolverine in a cage fight; Enjolras almost expected to hear the metallic clang.  


Once free of the crowd, Enjolras was breathless and worried while Grantaire’s hair messy but he was otherwise unperturbed. Enjolras realised Grantaire’s t-shirt was soaked in blood. Sometimes, in fact a lot of the time, Enjolras forgot that Grantaire was not flesh and blood. This was one of those moments. He rushed to Grantaire and anxiously asked, “Is that your blood?”  


Grantaire looked down at himself and seemed startled. He said, “Think it might be.” He peeled back the t-shirt and poked underneath, his fingers coming back a deep red. He gaped at them, wide-eyed in fascination.  


“What should we do? How are you even standing? You should sit down. I’m sure an ambulance will be here soon,” Enjolras fluttered around Grantaire and led him to the curb, forcing him to sit. Grantaire didn’t correct Enjolras’ mistake and allowed himself to be fussed over.  


“Do you feel lightheaded? Should I put pressure on it?” Enjolras went to remove his coat.  


Grantaire gently stopped him, “No, I’m fine.”  


It must have shown on Enjolras’ face as he realised the faux pas. Grantaire was clearly not in need of medical assistance. Enjolras fell into embarrassed silence.  


“Thanks,” Grantaire said kindly. “I appreciate it.”  


Enjolras felt sullen about how things had turned out.  


“Did you get hurt when you stepped in front of me?” Enjolras asked.  


Grantaire just looked at Enjolras strangely; a serene smile crept across his features.  


“Did that man stab you?” Enjolras persisted.  


“Yeah,” Grantaire replied. “It’s fine though. Could you call GenTech when we get in?”  


“Yes, of course. Is there anything we can do now?”  


Grantaire shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s not happened before.”  


“Did you know that you would bleed?” Enjolras almost whispered.  


“I knew I could bleed. They made it so if we were cut it’d look sort of real.” Grantaire was surveying his t-shirt in awe. “It’s only superficial anyway. The shard hit metal after that.”  


“Does it hurt?”  


Grantaire gave Enjolras the serene smile again, somehow deeply pleased to be asked.  


“Nope, Enjolras, it doesn’t hurt.”  


“That’s good,” Enjolras concluded. “I was worried.” He frowned towards the crowd, his features pinching in helpless frustration.  


“Would you like me to go and get the others out?”  


Enjolras let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, “Yes, please.”  


With that, Grantaire disappeared into the angry throng and God help whoever got in his way.  


***  


The Justice Club had disbanded after the end of university. Grantaire’s nickname had managed to stick amongst their group of friends. Enjolras feigned annoyance, claiming it drew attention from their message, but in honesty he thought it was rather fitting. Grantaire had become increasingly good with cultural references and social commentary, his nicknames having a way of sticking.  


Everyone stayed in touch and they met several times a year for old time’s revelry. Enjolras maintained regular contact with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, who both currently sat at his kitchen table. Enjolras had put into play his Grantaire Masterplan but he needed advice on the smaller aspects of encouraging creativity. He didn’t know how to broach the issue without being asked, since the drama was so long-running that to complain would be like kicking a dead horse. He decided to take a different tact, one he hadn’t attempted previously.  


Unfortunately this tact ended up being less to do with a solution to Grantaire’s lack of creativity, instead more in line with its underlying cause and Enjolras’ growing frustration at a lack of anyone to discuss it with.  


“What do you think about androids and artificial intelligence?” He asked benignly to the table as a whole. It was safe to discuss since Grantaire was out somewhere with Jehan, probably being recklessly spontaneous. Enjolras didn’t know what he hoped to gain from this question but the idea of speaking about it aloud seemed gratifying. Perhaps it would give him some clarity.  


Courfeyrac replied immediately, “Cool. I like robot films. My fave is Terminator, obviously, can’t question the classic. i-Robot is pretty good too. Will Smith never disappoints.” The answer wasn’t necessarily what Enjolras had had in mind. Courfeyrac’s taste in films was something the friends had experienced first-hand on a number of occasions.  


Combeferre, a lover of the hypothetical and debate at large, appeared to think more deeply and asked, “Do you mean to ask whether we think they actually exist?”  


“I suppose both. Do you think they could exist and what is your take on them if they did?” Enjolras feigned inexperience, sticking to hypotheticals.  


“I think they’ll exist in the future,” Courfeyrac said. “Guessing they probably won’t time travel though or we’d know about them now.”  


“True,” Combeferre allowed. “They can actually build androids now but it is whether they possess artificial intelligence. I don’t know if the technology is advanced enough yet. Maybe.”  


“But in the event it did exist what would you make of it?”  


“Well,” Combeferre considered. “I suppose it depends on why they were created and if it was deliberate. We only build things we want to use, so we would want to use them for something. If they were capable of intelligence then that could pose problems, differences of opinion.”  


“And we’d probably try to use them for war or something,” Courfeyrac added. Enjolras hadn’t considered that but it left a shard of dread inside him.  


Combeferre nodded his agreement, “And I can’t imagine that an intelligent, thinking machine would take kindly to that. It would be illogical.”  


Courfeyrac supplemented the quote with a Vulcan salute.  


Combeferre smirked at the gesture and continued, “It is like with everything. We would try to bend it to our will and it would only lead to trouble.”  


This was very much the discussion Enjolras had wanted but also desperately didn’t want to hear. He hated the idea of forcing Grantaire to do anything and more so the idea that someone might have forced Grantaire to go to war, even if he was physically suited to it.  


He decided to ask the big question, “But do you think that they could feel? Like a human being can?”  


Courfeyrac replied, “They could be programmed to feel, couldn’t they?”  


“I think it would be less to do with programming. Once you create something that is capable of independent thought, of learning, it can learn to do anything. The way we feel about each other is often a learnt response. We give feelings words and categorise them. A machine advanced enough could do the same.”  


“Surely,” Enjolras added, “If a machine looked like a human being and lived amongst us and acted like us then it could learn to feel as we feel. There would be nothing stopping that.”  


“Does it know that it’s a machine?” Combeferre asked. “In theory, I could be a machine. I could be walking around thinking my feelings were feelings and I was like everyone else. What would be the difference?”  


Courfeyrac piped in, “Can we even prove that human beings can feel?”  


“Exactly,” Combeferre pointed to Courfeyrac to recognise an excellent point.  


“But what if it knew it was a machine?” Enjolras asked.  


“That would be slightly different because then there would be a degree of self-awareness. If I were a machine, I’d probably question my own feelings and their authenticity. You wouldn’t be able to know how much of you was really you. I suppose it is a bit like nature and nurture. There is a part of us all we can’t control or change.”  


“So, it might not make a difference at all. Personally, I think it would be awesome to be an android,” Courfeyrac added.  


“Would you?” Combeferre posed, “I think it would be awful. It would depend, again, on why I was created but if I were made in the image of mankind and expected to live amongst them, then it would be horrible.”  


“Why?” Enjolras asked, increasingly troubled.  


“I would be a replica. I would be living amongst the thing I was designed to imitate. Always having to pretend I’m something I’m not, pretend I’m human, but never being able to become human. What would be the purpose of creating something like a human being, expecting it to emulate a human being but never recognising it as such? It would be almost better if they couldn’t feel because then they wouldn’t have to feel hurt.”  


Enjolras had known he hadn’t wanted to hear something like this and now it was out there he felt positively nauseous. Combeferre was more astute than he would ever know. Obviously, he was also correct. That is exactly what it must be like. Not only was Grantaire’s art a replica but his whole life was. The art was just a digestible representation of this. Fixing the art issue might not really help all that much after all. He supposed it might make Grantaire feel better but it would be superficial. Enjolras didn’t know what to do. If Grantaire could create art for himself then it might encourage him, reassure him that he could be original. Either way, it couldn’t be a bad thing.  


Combeferre and Courfeyrac had continued the android debate.  


Enjolras interrupted, “Sorry, change of subject but I need your advice. I think Grantaire might be getting upset about his art and I wondered if you could help me fix it.”  


“Fix it?” Combeferre queried.  


“Well, no, but you know what I mean.” Enjolras hadn’t thought of the wording and how it could be interpreted given what Grantaire was. It was a suggestion he had not intended to make. “He is having trouble with inspiration. Artist’s block, or whatever.”  


“Grantaire is totally amazing at art,” Courfeyrac said. “He drew me this super realistic portrait in charcoal. I have it in my hallway.”  


“Yes but that was based on real life. The whole,” he hesitated but resumed regardless, “imitation thing reminded me. He needs inspiration for his imagination. He needs to be able to make his own creations.”  


Courfeyrac and Combeferre shared a look. Enjolras narrowed his gaze. He had often noticed this when he spoke about Grantaire. Did he speak about Grantaire too much? It felt like when no one else has seen a film you enjoy but you still want to talk about it even though everyone else is bored. Enjolras couldn’t seem to bring himself to stop.  


“I get it,” Courfeyrac said. “He needs to go find inspiration. Go for a walk in nature, in galleries, read some books maybe and see a bit of urban culture and what not. He needs to get out and see some stuff.”  


“He does his photography of all those things already though?”  


Courfeyrac thought on it, “Maybe a new perspective?”  


“Yes, exactly,” Enjolras agreed.  


Combeferre added, “Enjolras, there’s nothing wrong with Grantaire’s art. Some people are just better at capturing what is in front of them and others are more abstract.”  


“But it’s making him unhappy.”  


“I can’t draw at all. It would make me happy if I could but sometimes that’s the way things are.”  


Enjolras didn’t know how to explain that this was more crucial than that. He conceded to the fact that this was realistic and could in fact be the case. His disappointment must have showed.  


“Couldn’t hurt to try what I said though. With finding inspiration,” Courfeyrac glared at Combeferre, in an attempt to silence him. “I will think of some specific ideas for you to try out. Would you be okay with visiting galleries and that?”  


“Of course, anything.”  


Courfeyrac looked extremely smugly at Combeferre, as though he had proven an important point.  


It was then that Grantaire and Jehan entered, and everyone tried to swiftly look as though they had not been discussing Grantaire’s lack of artistic inspiration.  


Unfortunately, the cover-up involved Courfeyrac asking them, “Hey guys. How ya’ doing? We were just having a little chat about androids. What’s your take on it?”  


The immensity of how mortifying this question was, was felt by Enjolras and Enjolras alone.  


Grantaire seemed to freeze in place while reaching for a glass for Jehan from the cupboard. His eyes locked on Enjolras in undeniable question. He didn’t appear annoyed, more shocked with an edge of mild dread.  


Jehan, saviour that he was, hugged Courfeyrac and took a seat. He had joined Grantaire to many of their meetings at uni and had been immersed in the group. He immediately took the attention off Grantaire and joined the discussion.  


“Are we speaking only of androids or also cyborgs?”  


“There’s a difference?” Courfeyrac asked.  


“Yeah, androids are machines without organic parts, while cyborgs are partially or possibly entirely organic,” Combeferre supplemented.  


“Really? So, a cyborg could be a human with a robotic arm?”  


“Exactly,” Jehan agreed.  


Courfeyrac mused, “So, Will Smith was a cyborg all along.”  


“Yeah,” Combeferre said, “And in that case cyborgs definitely do exist. Someone could be both a human and a cyborg.”  


“Unless when you become a cyborg you cease to be a human being,” Jehan suggested.  


Everyone seemed to think on this in bemused silence.  


Enjolras asked, “But how can a cyborg be entirely organic? Wouldn’t that just be a human being?”  


By this time, Grantaire had retrieved the glass and filled it with water. He had given it to a thankful Jehan before taking a seat between Enjolras and Combeferre. He said, “A cyborg is organic with the addition of mechanical parts. Human being or otherwise. A dog could be a cyborg.”  


Jehan nodded his agreement and sipped the water. Courfeyrac’s expression suggested he was delighted by the idea of cyborg dogs.  


Combeferre, who from the very beginning appeared to have enjoyed the discussion, said, “What if an organism is entirely man-made but also entirely organic?”  


Grantaire shrugged, seemingly not wanting to invest too much in the conversation, but still reluctantly replied, “I think cyborg wouldn’t be the right word for it. Defining things becomes cloudy. Where do you stop?” Enjolras found himself more curious as to why Grantaire had considered this at all. Grantaire was neither a cyborg nor a human being so surely the definition shouldn’t matter to him either way. Perhaps it didn’t matter to him. However, his responses and reasoning had been unrehearsed. Enjolras thought back to Combeferre’s comment about imitation. Were the defining factors of a human being things he took advantage of as a human being? Enjolras didn’t have to imitate and therefore didn’t have to think about any of this if he didn’t want to.  


Meanwhile, Combeferre had considered Grantaire’s question and asked, “Would cloning be creating a cyborg? If it is entirely organic then no but it’d be technically man-made. I mean children conceived using IVF use a similar process of implantation so I guess technicially they could be considered man-made yet they’re not.”  


“And obviously children conceived with IVF are human and not cyborgs,” Jehan added.  


Combeferre said, “Perhaps you’re right and the problem lies in the definition.”  


“Sure,” Grantaire hedged.  


Courfeyrac asked, slightly off topic, “In Blade Runner all the replicants are killed by Harrison Ford by shooting them. I thought that they were supposed to be androids but an android surely wouldn’t die by gunshot.”  


“No, they’re not androids,” Grantaire surmised, with mild annoyance. Perhaps Grantaire knew so much about defining these things because it annoyed him to be mislabelled? Yet as soon as Enjolras considered it, he dismissed it. Grantaire was a lot of things but he wasn’t petty.  


Enjolras had watched Blade Runner with Grantaire a few years earlier. Grantaire had hated it. This discussion and Combeferre’s earlier conclusion about being a replica made more sense of this dislike. Admittedly Grantaire had preferred the book but he had still been belligerent and critical. Perhaps the book’s exclusion of the word replicant was something in its favour but obviously the overall message was still the same. It was bleak and served as an unpleasant reminder. Enjolras wondered if there was a way to derail this discussion to something more amenable to Grantaire. It was a small reprieve that the conversation was about the nature of androids and their depiction in cinema rather than their potential lack of humanity.  


Grantaire asked, “How did you get onto this subject anyway?” Of course Grantaire would get straight to the salient point as soon as possible. The answer could move the conversation onto any aspect of the topic, regardless of how offensive to Grantaire it could be. The worst part was knowing that Grantaire would have to sit through it as though it didn’t directly apply to him. Why would Grantaire inadvertently do that to himself? What did he stand to gain from asking?  


Courfeyrac answered, “Enjolras asked us if we thought artificial intelligence existed.”  


Grantaire accepted the answer neutrally and not long afterwards the subject mercifully moved on. However, several minutes later Enjolras noticed that Grantaire was giving him a quizzical look. Enjolras met the gaze and returned a look as if to say ‘What are you looking at?’ Grantaire just shook his head, not unkindly or even wearily; it was more the fondness a parent gives when they catch their child doing something typically foolish but somewhat fascinating. Enjolras couldn’t fathom what it could mean and never got the chance to ask.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. Sorry for the unexpected wait but trying to edit chapters at this time of year is made even more longwinded when your pedantic self and your thorough beta are working on something that allows for debate on the essence of what makes someone human. Also I am told I use words that don't mean what I think they mean and must be educated. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Putting Courfeyrac’s plan into motion was surprisingly easier than Enjolras had predicted. Grantaire was, at Enjolras’ insistence that he himself wanted to go, quite happy to be taken on a cultural tour of the city and surrounding countryside. He did ask why Enjolras was so keen to visit these places and why he felt the need to do so with such sudden urgency but Enjolras just feigned a recent impulse and with the history of Grantaire’s fads he was reasonably understanding.

Enjolras wanted to point things out and get Grantaire involved but he was afraid that was too obvious, so they just took in the culture together. Grantaire was frustratingly tight-lipped on expressing a profound opinion on what he was looking at but often Enjolras saw him staring thoughtfully at things in deep reflection. He was more forthcoming on his more jovial observations or interests, some of which included:

  * Pointing at ancient marble pottery and commenting on how it looked like white chocolate.
  * Commenting on sculptural depictions of the male form and whether or not the Catholic church had removed the penis. This led to explaining the mass attempt at cleansing the blatant exposure of the genitals in classical art, in a historical event Grantaire referred to as ‘Dick-Gate.’ While a highly interesting discussion on censorship, religion and cultural views of nudity did ensue, it did degenerate to Grantaire pointing at disfigured crotches and publicly exclaiming, “Dick-Gate strikes again”.
  * Trying to touch everything, especially if a sign stipulated that he shouldn’t.
  * Reading the translated and foreign language materials, and commenting on errors.
  * Expressing a fascination with dinosaurs and discussing whether he thought the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park could be actually made with DNA from amber.
  * Insisting to get a photograph of Enjolras posed in front of every single depiction of Apollo, regardless of whether photography was prohibited or not.
  * On one occasion pretending to a foreign tour group that he was a language guide and then giving them a particularly tongue-in-cheek tour for half an hour while Enjolras awkwardly loitered nearby.



While this was perhaps not the enlightenment Enjolras had envisioned, he found that as the weeks passed they were talking and debating more comfortably with one another. Enjolras concealed his delight at finally experiencing friendly, quality time with Grantaire. There had been relatively few arguments and no sign of the overwhelmingly low moods.

After a morning of looking at taxidermies and experiencing earthquake simulators, Enjolras sat in a museum café and waited for Grantaire to return from the till. It was not their usual choice of museum but they were starting to run out of options. On a positive note, when Enjolras had stumbled as the simulator rocked he had secretly enjoyed the way Grantaire had tried to support him. The machine had lurched and before he could lose his balance, gentle, firm hands had been holding him upright. Grantaire’s skin had been soft against his forearm and he had been so close Enjolras could feel the warmth radiating off of him. Enjolras had stayed as still as possible for fear of startling Grantaire away. However, to Enjolras’ pleasant surprise, Grantaire hadn’t let go until the simulation had ended, leaving a flustered and blushing Enjolras in its wake. Grantaire had playfully assumed Enjolras had been scared and Enjolras allowed him to believe this instead. This was easier than Enjolras having to address the feelings his reaction had brought about.

Enjolras watched as Grantaire weaved through the café tables towards him with ease. Grantaire presented a tray of tea and scones before falling into his seat and beginning to arrange the teapots and condiments for optimum space. Enjolras thought it was rather sweet that Grantaire always did this, knowing Enjolras’ preference for tidiness.

“I thought you could use a bit of a boost after your near death experience,” Grantaire said, as he peered into the teapot and poked about inside with a spoon.

“Near-death experience?”

“Shaky floor, rattling shelves, sirens.”

“Oh, right,” Enjolras just took a fruit scone and began to hastily butter it.

Grantaire continued, “I didn’t think I’d find natural disasters so god-damned entertaining. Did you see that woman by the far-wall? She was even more terrified than you were.” Grantaire accompanied the comment with a mischievous little smirk.

Enjolras intently buttered and pretended not to be affected.

“Don’t you worry. I’m sure,” Grantaire dragged out the words teasingly, “the volcano room will be more suited to your tastes.”

“Volcano room? How on earth will they do that?”

“I hear guests have to jump over molten rock-“

“Oh, shut it, you. It’s probably just a bit of a warm room.”

Grantaire laughed gleefully at Enjolras’ mock scolding and began to pour the tea into oversized cups.

“That’s the spirit, eh, Apollo. Those pesky volcanos, bit warm wouldn’t you say?” Grantaire teased as he added milk. “Easily fixed by just turning down the heating.”

“Frankly I don’t know why Pompeii made all that fuss,” Enjolras obliged playfully in return. “The Roman’s loved steam rooms, anyway.”

Grantaire seemed delighted to have Enjolras on board, “It’s a win-win. Opens up the pores and heats your home.”

Enjolras considered, “I really hope it is just a warm room now.”

“Won’t scare you? I mean, think of the heating bill.”

Enjolras sighed and sipped on his tea, watching Grantaire shrewdly over the rim of the cup. Over the last few weeks they had been baiting each other more and more and so far no feelings had been hurt.

Grantaire absently licked jam off the pad of his thumb and Enjolras watched but pretended not to. Not only did it raise Enjolras’ pulse but also a question.

“Grantaire? Do you even like scones?”

“Hmm?” was the reply through a mouthful of dough, followed by rapid swallowing. “Not so much, why?”

“Well, you’re eating them, is all?”

Grantaire shrugged and said, “There are people.” He gestured about the crowded dining room.

“They aren’t going to care if you eat scones or not. You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to.”

Grantaire frowned and for a second Enjolras thought he may have misstepped and struck a chord.  However, Grantaire shrugged again and said, “I didn’t want you to eat alone.”

Enjolras didn’t know what to make of that. Why would it matter to Grantaire? “It’s fine. You don’t have to do that on my behalf. I don’t want you to get sick or something.”

Grantaire quirked an eyebrow, “What are you chatting about? I won’t get sick.” He looked as though he thought it the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “Did someone tell you that?”

Enjolras flushed, “Well, no. I just….” He trailed off.

Grantaire seemed confused by the whole thing but didn’t call Enjolras out on it again. He just drank the tea and seemed to be considering the conversation.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, “I haven’t offended you?”

Striking blue eyes swivelled onto Enjolras. “God no. Jeez. It’ll take more than a fruit scone for that.” He made to brush fluff off his shoulder, “I survived an earthquake this morning, ya know?”

Enjolras hadn’t realised how tense he’d gone until he relaxed, “Will you survive the warm room though?”

“If I can survive this buttered scone I can probably survive anything,” Grantaire’s lips quirked. “I’m more worried about you. With your performance earlier, I reckon you’re a natural disaster.”

For a second Enjolras feared Grantaire had realised the real reason for his odd behaviour in the simulator but Grantaire’s jovial tone suggested otherwise.

“That was bad,” Enjolras said of the joke, a forced air of mocking.

“You think?”

“Totally awful.”

“Tough crowd,” Grantaire feigned offense and then shrugged. “Fair. Anyhow, if you’re a natural disaster then I’m just as much an unnatural one.”

It took a pause for Enjolras to grasp the meaning and he quickly said, “There’s nothing disastrous about you. Or, you know…” He muttered off into silence.

“I hear ya, Apollo,” he said dismissively. Enjolras wondered if he had missed a chance to joke with Grantaire about what he was but he didn’t have time to dwell as he was soon swept away into an afternoon of Grantaire’s jokes and anecdotes, and a very warm volcano room.

***

On an early October afternoon as they walked along their street returning home from an exhibition on Vikings, Enjolras opened the gate to the terrace next door and walked to the front door.

Grantaire stood on the street and called, somewhat accommodatingly, “Apollo. That’s not our building.” It was as though he thought there was a chance Enjolras had become confused on this matter.

“I know.” Enjolras unlocked the door with the key in his coat pocket and continued inside. On seeing this Grantaire, with an air of exasperated curiosity, followed him in.

Enjolras was already ascending the stairs and Grantaire hurried to catch up, asking, “Enjolras. What are you doing? Where did you get a key?”

It was deeply satisfying to be the one revealing a mysterious secret for a change, so Enjolras stayed enigmatically quiet. Grantaire trailed up the stairs behind him, begrudgingly awaiting the reveal.

Enjolras got to the second floor and unlocked the door, revealing the flat Grantaire had shown him weeks ago.

Grantaire walked in and glanced about, despite being fully aware of what he would find, before honing in on Enjolras. “What? It’s just the flat next door. You borrowed a key?”

“No. It’s my key.”

Grantaire frowned, “They let you cut a key?”

“Grantaire, don’t be so obtuse, it doesn’t suit you,” Enjolras quipped.

There was a long pause as Grantaire appeared to reach the answer but not comprehend it.

“You bought the flat next door. Why?”

“Because you wanted it and this way I can come here without falling off the roof. You can decorate now too and we can sort out the kitchen, if you like.”

“But why?”

“Because you said you wanted to have a dark room and a place for parties.”

Grantaire still didn’t seem to understand, fretfully looking about himself to avoid having to ask again. When this naturally led to no epiphany, he looked helplessly back at Enjolras and said, “You want me to move next door?”

“No,” Enjolras said. “No. I never said that. You can obviously keep your room. You just seemed really disappointed that you couldn’t make use of the space and I felt like I spoilt your plans when I fell.”

Grantaire seemed relieved but still bewildered. He walked about the flat as an apparent means of distraction. Enjolras watched him make the rounds and then return to the front door.

“But why?” Grantaire was glitching over the concept. Not that Grantaire actually glitches, since he worked seamlessly.

Enjolras sighed, “I don’t know what you want me to say. I wanted you to have it. You can use it exactly as you had planned. I thought it would make you happy to have it. Okay.” He was getting irritable at being asked for an answer he didn’t want to have to explain.

“You didn’t have to do it.”

“I know that. I wanted to.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to ask another question but abruptly closed it again. Enjolras would have bet infinite money that the quelled question had been ‘But why?’.

“Okay. How, then?”

Enjolras knew why Grantaire asked. Grantaire had all the functions of a calculator with the addition of being able to apply context and reasoning. He had served as Enjolras’ accountant since time anon. He knew how much money Enjolras made and about the tempestuous relationship he had with the concept of wealth. Grantaire knew that Enjolras couldn’t afford to buy a second apartment outright.

Enjolras tried to compose an answer but the delay was telling. Grantaire pounced, “You asked your parents.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” the answer small.

“But why?” Enjolras wanted to laugh but frankly, the question was valid.

“Because I wanted to,” was all he said.

“That’s not a good enough reason.”

“Sometimes it is, Grantaire. Just accept it. It’s a present. How I got it isn’t important.”

“Yes it is. You compromised your beliefs and folded to buy me an apartment I wanted for the fun of it. Why would you do that?”

The idea of living off his parents’ wealth and name was unsavoury to Enjolras. His upbringing had been one of unlimited wealth and indulgence; he had never wanted for anything. Ironically, there were plenty of things money could not buy him. The awareness of the limitations of wealth and the problems it could cause to those who had not acquired it themselves, led to Enjolras cutting himself off from it. He loved his parents, despite their flaws, and knew that they were not malicious in their position but it didn’t change that they didn’t know any different. They had both been born into wealth and prestige, and had set about doing the only thing they knew how, acquiring more of both. Enjolras wanted to carve his own way in the world without relying on handouts or nepotism.

He didn’t want anyone to ever suggest that he had achieved anything unduly. He wanted his achievements to be his own and to be to his credit.

Besides, he didn’t need to be a part of that overindulgent world.

When he went to university he applied for a student loan, and since the means testing allowed him no money at all, only allowed his parents to give him the average amount the government would customarily give. He lived as a student like everybody else, paid back his loan (and his parents) himself, got a job and had never allowed his parents to give him any monetary aid. At birthdays and Christmas he asked for commonplace gifts. His brother thought him crazy. His parents thought it bothersome but generally quite sweet. They seemed to encourage him in learning how to survive and earn his own money but Enjolras sensed that they were waiting for him to fold.

He finally had after over 6 years.

He had phoned his mother the day after he had fallen off the roof and asked her for real estate advice. He explained the two empty flats next door and how he wanted to buy one as an investment. She had been very interested and had looked into their value and potential. They had discussed many aspects of it but the summary was that he could not afford it. However, his mother, now interested in the flats from an investment standpoint, had gone and purchased them both. She had then insisted that Enjolras could have the bottom flat and her, the flat above it. Usually he would have declined with resolution but after a short battle with himself he had caved.

It had been a momentous thing and a huge personal failing. While his mother had not said a solitary word and had only been happy to help, her the most understanding of his parents, he knew that the submission was not minor and would lead to a sequence of unsaid humiliation at his failure. Enjolras saw his personal mission then for what it was; a lie. While he had lived like everyone else it had been nothing more than a simulation. He had not allowed himself to fall into debt but if he had, he would have had a safety net. There was no real danger of financial ruin. If he had been made homeless, would he have come crawling back to his parents? He hated himself for the answer. He was like Marie Antoinette in the Petit Trianon, doing the gardening and ‘playing’ at being poor.  It was disingenuous and an insult to people who were actually poor. He felt as though if he had stayed at home, he would not have learnt anything but in leaving, he had committed a different sort of crime. He couldn’t see a right answer.

It all meant nothing now anyway because he had folded.

He had only done it because he wanted to see Grantaire happy.

He felt bitter but was somehow still not regretful.

Grantaire was still standing in the new apartment, awaiting an explanation.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said. “I know you must be disappointed.”

“Why would I be disappointed? I just don’t understand why you’d do something like this for me. I know how much was at stake.”

Enjolras didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to do. I’ll find a way of paying them back and it will be fine.”

“That’s not the point though, is it? It cost you too much.”

“Okay,” Enjolras snapped, suddenly. “That’s enough.”

Grantaire was startled but then raised an eyebrow in rebuttal, “Enjolras. I’m right. Plus, I bloody well can’t accept this as a gift.”

“Are you serious? After-“

“It’s, like, blood money, Enjolras. I don’t want you to blame me for it when I didn’t ask for it.”

“I don’t blame you but I promise I will be pissed off if you don’t accept it after I’ve had to borrow the money to buy it.”

Grantaire’s face took on a peculiar expression before he said, but not in his own voice, “ _Enjolras, we've paid for him now. You may as well keep him_.” He levelled his gaze at Enjolras, an air of superior defiance.

Enjolras didn’t recognise the origin at first, too confused by hearing his own father’s voice. As it dawned on him, he didn’t know where to look or how to act. He felt shame and frustration. He couldn’t look at Grantaire. He was met with the immediate need to cry. They had never talked about it. Not ever. They had alluded to how Enjolras had not asked for or expected to have Grantaire but never to his initial refusal to keep Grantaire. It was so long ago, so distant. Everything now was so completely different.

This apartment as a gift was completely different. This was a flat, a property, just brick and mortar; it was incomparable to everything that was Grantaire. The distinction was crucially important. Enjolras couldn’t see how anyone could view this as similar. He wanted to argue this point, really exaggerate it, make it unequivocally clear to Grantaire that he did not see a similarity in the situations. He wanted to remind Grantaire that if he wanted to make a comparison, then it was no argument at all for rejecting the gift as he ought to remember that Enjolras had kept him. He wanted to accuse Grantaire of being cruel. He wanted to shake Grantaire and ask him why he didn’t understand that Enjolras hadn’t meant any offense and that he was trying to be nice.

Except ‘nice’ didn’t exactly cover all the things he wanted to say to Grantaire. With that thought all the carefully constructed arguments died away and Enjolras was met with an insurmountable wall and a visceral ache.

He blinked sheepishly at Grantaire, eyelashes strangely heavy, and said, barely a whisper, “And you were the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”

He didn’t wait for the reaction, just quickly retreated down the stairs and back to their apartment.

***

Enjolras was now certain the bad moods were his fault. Subsequent to the totally well-intentioned but poorly-received apartment gift, Grantaire descended immediately into one of his worst moods yet. As soon as Enjolras saw Grantaire next, he knew to be cautious by the hollow, standoffish look he was treated to. Cause and effect was established. The gift had been the catalyst.

Enjolras didn’t understand.  

Certainly, he understood that they had argued about the gift and the way it was obtained but surely it was obvious to Grantaire that Enjolras had not been trying to hurt his feelings, for whichever reason. Was there an unseen offense that Enjolras wasn’t aware of? He was certain he didn’t have the whole picture.

The low mood couldn’t have come at a worse time, because 3 days into it was Grantaire’s appointment at GenTech.

Every 6 months Grantaire had to go to GenTech for a service and at every second service Grantaire was interviewed and assessed for his cognition and psychology.

The service involved maintenance, repairs and necessary or optional upgrades. Enjolras was always given a list of these upgrades to select or approve, a list which was functionally pointless as Grantaire had to explain half of it to him anyway, so may as well have just approved them himself. Enjolras, however, did enjoy hearing Grantaire’s explanations. Firstly, because it was somewhat interesting to hear Grantaire try to explain everything in layman’s terms and secondly, because he liked learning more about how Grantaire worked. Grantaire remained calm but he appeared to find this process to some degree embarrassing. It was as though he found the way he functioned a humiliation. To Enjolras, it was the equivalent to being embarrassed about his food preferences but unwilling to upset Grantaire, he made few disruptions. Internally though, he found the whole thing very fascinating. Grantaire could do some amazing things. Naturally, he was a machine who could calculate, compute, look up and retain infinite information but he could also see using infrared, radar and night vision, he could run at over 30mph, he could mimic human voices and he could lift far more than anything Enjolras had ever seen on The World’s Strongest Man.

Enjolras was also intrigued at how every three years GenTech subtly aged the androids to match the age of their human counterpart, as though allowing someone the strength to lift a car was discreet so long as they appeared to age appropriately. Enjolras wasn’t sure exactly how they aged them but he assumed it was with alterations to hair growth and skin quality. He supposed Grantaire would be too embarrassed to properly explain it to him.

However, it was always the psychological exam that made Grantaire most anxious. Naturally, this would be the time with that assessment also. Grantaire was always antsy around this time. As far as Enjolras could tell, it involved a scan to assess electrical activity in Grantaire’s brain and then he was interviewed for an hour or so on a range of topics. This was both for safety and research purposes. They wanted to establish how the androids developed interpersonally and emotionally. Enjolras deduced that they also wanted to prove whether a machine could learn to feel.

It was for safety because in a couple of isolated incidents the interview had uncovered need for intervention. In the documents Enjolras had signed an android could be taken from its owner in the event that the owner’s safety was in jeopardy. Obviously, this was not a serious concern given the programming not to harm humans and obey their owner. However, the interview was performed with the android attached to a machine that only allowed them to express the truth or things they believed to be so, much like a polygraph. During some interviews, androids had expressed such hatred or malicious intent towards their owners that they had been removed or replaced for the owner’s safety. The owners were entitled to view the footage of the interview and the results of the scan, however it was optional. Enjolras considered this highly invasive to Grantaire’s privacy and had resolutely opted out from the offset. He distantly understood the purpose and even the interest to obtain these results but it led back to the ethics issues.

The only positive to the whole ordeal was Professor Lamarque.

While the technicians in the service department and the fatcats in their suits viewed the androids only as machines, Lamarque viewed them as people.

He was the head psychologist employed by GenTech to assess the androids’ psychological state. Lamarque maintained that it was important he continued to do so. Otherwise it would be implied there was no psychological state to assess which he described as dehumanising and backwards. He walked a difficult line between pleasing his employer and doing what he thought was right. It was important to him that he proved the androids could feel so that perhaps their rights would be improved. But conversely, he worried it could have the reverse effect and lead to them being feared or persecuted. Therefore, he collected his data in the kindest and most efficient way he could. He fulfilled his job, unpleasant as it was, but he made the experience better just by being there.

Grantaire was still in a morose mood as he sat beside Enjolras in the waiting room, and Enjolras had decided to wait for it to run its course, surmising it would not improve until after the visit.

It was an interesting waiting room as Enjolras knew that 50% of those waiting were androids. The clientele were rich and well-dressed but often so were their androids, making it difficult to tell who was who. There were no physical clues, only the game of watching them interact and drawing conclusions. Interestingly, it was more difficult to tell the better they got along with each other. If the android and human were familiar and spoke to one another they both appeared equally human. If they didn’t get along, then the human would often sit on a phone or reading, bored by the chore of maintaining their ‘pet’, and the android would sit uncomfortably at their side.

Enjolras dreaded to think what conclusions people came to watching Grantaire and himself.

Enjolras was puzzling over two girls in their late-twenties who were talking animatedly in the far corner when Grantaire said, “The blonde.”

“Pardon?”

“The blonde’s the android.”

“Oh,” Enjolras replied and looked back to them again, trying to see it for himself. He couldn’t, they were just two young women to him.

He was quiet for a while longer then said, “Grantaire?”

“Yes,” he sounded short but not necessarily annoyed.

“Do you ever speak to each other?” He gestured awkwardly towards the doors beyond the reception. He didn’t mean the girl specifically, just the androids in general.

“No. Not especially.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He played another round of Solitaire on his phone just for something to do. He didn’t want to pester Grantaire more than need be.

“We speak online sometimes,” Grantaire abruptly divulged, his voice lowered.

Matching the tone, Enjolras whispered, “Is that not allowed?”

“It’s not not allowed but I doubt it’s allowed.”

“I see.” The clandestine turn of the conversation was thrilling for Enjolras. He worried he was overstepping but asked anyway, “What do you talk about?”

Grantaire hesitated fractionally, and then answered, “It depends on who you are talking to. It’s the same as you speaking to people you barely know online, just because you have something in common doesn’t mean you like each other.”

Enjolras nodded an understanding. “Is this on a chatroom or messenger?”

Grantaire laughed for what felt to Enjolras like the first time in forever. He answered jovially, “No, Enjolras. It’s not on Facebook messenger. We are slightly subtler than that.”

“Is it in the _deep web_?” Enjolras asked as though he was inquiring into a deeply depraved scandal.

Grantaire laughed again, “Sure. If you like. We mostly use code rather than normal words, though.”

“I suppose that you don’t need a language when you can all speak in your own code between each other.”

At that moment Lamarque came out into the waiting room and, instead of calling a name, walked over to Grantaire and shook his hand.

“Grantaire, lovely to see you again.” He nodded towards Enjolras, “Enjolras, a pleasure as always.”

Enjolras loved the fact that, unlike everyone else here, Lamarque always used Grantaire’s chosen name.

Lamarque led Grantaire across the marble reception and through some heavy wooden doors. Enjolras got out his book, ready for a long wait.

***

After the visit with Lamarque things between them started to brighten up. Grantaire thanked Enjolras for the apartment and began to start deciding on how to best use the space. Enjolras wondered why the change of heart but decided not to outwardly question a good thing. Enjolras’ mum had already organised contractors to fix the hole in the ceiling, since it also affected her flat upstairs so once this was mended Grantaire set about decorating.

Grantaire, Jehan and their pretty dark-haired friend, who Enjolras later learnt was called Eponine, spent hours painting the walls together.

Enjolras had been invited to help but it felt as though it had been as an afterthought, so he claimed to be busy with work and declined. However, at intervals, Grantaire asked him to come and take a look at the progress. It was coming along quickly and the colour-scheme was outlandish but somehow still rather tasteful.

Enjolras was pleased with himself that his plan was working so well, even if he was not directly a part of it. Grantaire seemed to be expressing himself with the decorating and in very high spirits, which Enjolras supposed was the important thing despite his own feelings.

One afternoon in November, Enjolras let himself into the flat next door to have a look around and found Jehan was alone in there.

“Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting? Is Grantaire here?”

Jehan didn’t appear to be imposed upon, “That’s okay. Not at all a trouble. Although, I’m most sorry to tell you that he popped out. I was just finishing off cutting in the hall, as you can see.” Enjolras surveyed the careful workmanship.

 “Okay. Well, I’ll let you carry on.” Enjolras went to leave. However, he suddenly turned and blurted, “Jehan, I just thought I’d use this chance to thank you for helping Grantaire with this. If you could also tell Eponine I said thanks that would be amazing. If not, I’ll tell her if I bump into her.”

Jehan smiled widely, “You are very welcome, Enjolras. Are you busy?”

“Yeah. I suppose so. Courf and I have been bogged down with a couple of cases that involve a lot of shifting through old documents.”

“No,” Jehan waved a dismissive hand. “That was unclear of me. Do you have any time now?”

“Oh,” Enjolras grew flustered. “No. I don’t have plans.”

“Excellent,” Jehan took off his overalls and disappeared into the kitchen, returning in a knee-length coat in muted magenta. “I’ve spotted a sweet little café on the corner if you would care to join me.” Jehan didn’t wait for an answer and began to usher Enjolras back down the stairs.

They walked in silence to the café, which was relatively empty for a Saturday afternoon.

Jehan selected a window table and mused over the printed menu. Enjolras sat opposite and decided on a brie and bacon ciabatta, wondering what the purpose behind them having lunch was.

He didn’t have to wait very long. After they had ordered, Jehan began, “Enjolras, I’m sorry to corner you in this manner. I know that we are not particularly close, and I very much hope one day that will change-”

“What do you mean?” Enjolras said, trying not to sound defensive.

“I just mean that although we’ve never been at heads, we have never managed to hit it off either. We have never quite clicked, shall I say. I don’t know why that is and I assure you that it is not something I ever intended, and I would want to change it. I am not suggesting it’s your doing either, Enjolras, not at all, although if there is something-” Jehan stopped himself. “No matter. I’m sorry all the same for asking you here. It wasn’t so we could talk about ourselves. I was hoping to talk about Grantaire.”

Putting aside the still unexplainable rift between them, Enjolras is immediately suspicious. Has Jehan noticed anything about Grantaire, about what he is?

Enjolras said, “Okay. I’m happy to talk.” He then added, possibly to his future self’s resentment, “I’m also happy to talk about the two of us at a later stage. It sounds like we need to.”

Jehan nodded, “Thank you, I do appreciate it. Now,” he composed himself, “Have you noticed anything about Grantaire by any chance?”

Enjolras was outright alarmed now.

“Such as?” He decided to play it cool, of sorts.

“His recent behaviour.”

“With the new apartment?”

“Perhaps, or just in general. I’m just a tad worried about him and wondered if you had possibly noticed anything living with him,” Jehan paused. “I hate to ask. I despise speaking about him behind his back.”

“What worries you?”

Jehan chewed on his right lower lip. “It’s hard to say if I’m to be honest. Is he still drinking?”

Initially Enjolras wanted to assure Jehan that Grantaire’s hydration was not in peril but then realised he was referring to alcohol.

“Ohhh,” he said in recognition. Also, relieved that this ruled out the android discovery. “Sorry. I was lost for a minute. You mean his depressive moods?”

Jehan was surprised, “You know about those?”

“Well, of course. I’m his friend,” Enjolras said, with notable indignation. “Has he spoken to you about it?”

“A bit. I mean, just a few things.”

This annoyed Enjolras, “Well, he refuses to discuss it with me.”

Jehan seemed to find this comment strange, “I’m sure that that’s not how he intended it. I just wanted to know if he’s said anything or if you’ve noticed anything…self-destructive. Obviously, you don’t have to tell me if you think it’s inappropriate to say so. I wouldn’t dream of compromising his privacy. I’m just concerned about his safety.”

Enjolras approved of Jehan’s disclaimer but was just glad there was someone he could finally discuss it with, despite his resentment. However, he found the question difficult to answer since Grantaire was nigh-on indestructible through regular means.

“Not really. Just mood swings. I think they are usually my fault anyway. I think I set him off-”

“Enjolras,” Jehan reassured. “You can’t blame yourself. It doesn’t work like that.” He considered, “Mood-swings?”

“Yes. He is himself and then in a bad mood, very low for days at a time. He refuses to speak to me. He seems to be okay with everyone else, hence why I’m sure he is cross with me.”

“Hmm. That doesn’t sound like Grantaire at all.”

“Pardon?”

“It seems most out of character.”

“You don’t need to tell me.”

“How long has he been this way? Weeks, months?”

“What? No. Years. At least three years.”

Jehan is visibly alarmed. “Years? You can’t be serious.”

Enjolras grew disgruntled, “Of course, I’m serious.”

Jehan frowned in deep consideration.

Enjolras supplemented, “Do you think I’ve done something to upset him from the offset?”

Jehan gazed at Enjolras in bafflement, “No, Enjolras. That is exceedingly unlikely.”

“He didn’t tell you he was cross with me?”

“Absolutely not. Grantaire is not the least cross at you, why would you think something so absurd? That is definitely not the issue here,” Jehan was exasperated. “So, he hasn’t been drinking more than usual?”

“No.” Enjolras hardly saw how it made a difference but Jehan wasn’t to know that. “What sort of things has he been telling you? He is moody sure but he isn’t self-destructive. Has he told you otherwise?”

Jehan seemed reluctant to say, “Perhaps he doesn’t want you to think badly of him.” As soon as he said it he seemed to regret it. However, Enjolras’ mind had already begun to fire at a million miles an hour. Surely Grantaire must realise that Enjolras thought extremely highly of him. Then again, perhaps not to the heights that Enjolras had begun to think of lately. From where Enjolras was standing he appeared to care a lot more about Grantaire’s opinion than Grantaire did about his. How is Jehan qualified to say? What does he know? Meanwhile, Jehan said, “I’m very sorry, Enjolras. I feel utterly wretched. I don’t think it was such a good idea of us to discuss it like this. It feels deceitful. I was unsure what else to do but I do feel a little better if you say he hasn’t been drinking excessively. Although, that’s not the point, to make myself feel better that is. I just would hate for something to happen to him and for it to be too late because we didn’t communicate effectively. I hope you can forgive me for prying.”

Enjolras felt bombarded so he just said, “I forgive you. It’s okay. I care about him too.” It was the truth.

Jehan beamed, “I’m glad. I know how important you are to him.”

Again, the comment seemed weighted, again a series of questions crowded into Enjolras’ mind and again he felt a swell of hopefulness. He didn’t know where to start with this one. 

Their food came so they ate and chatted about more benign things. Enjolras found that Jehan was rather passionate, profound and funny when you got talking to him.

***

By the time Grantaire spotted them in the cafe window while on his way home, they had finished their food and were sipping coffees, laughing together while reminiscing about the time Joly had decided to host a dinner party. It had been an unfortunate disaster, involving over cooked beef and a lack of chairs but everyone had enjoyed themselves regardless.

Grantaire entered the cafe without hesitation and approached their table, to the sound of Jehan recounting Bahorel's reaction to the toughness of the meat. Enjolras saw that Grantaire was outwardly amicable but with a layer of discontent knitted into his expression. Enjolras assumed this was at finding them here together, potentially, and in light of the last hour, actually, discussing him.

Jehan jumped from his seat and pulled Grantaire into an embrace, unaware of the unease, and said, "Hello, R. Enjolras came to see how things were coming along so we came for a late lunch. Come and take a seat."

Enjolras started at the nickname, and asked in honest surprise, "R?"

Jehan puzzled over this, "Well, yes, R. As in Grantaire. Grand R." Enjolras did know and Grantaire knew that he knew.

Enjolras still feigned a degree of ignorance, "Oh? Right, yes."

Jehan was still not placated by this; he turned to a now seated Grantaire and said, "Enjolras didn't know your nickname?"

Grantaire clarified, the only one with the full picture in this case, "He knew. He just doesn't call me it and I guess didn't realise anyone else did." It was somehow both an informative and entirely truthful answer.

Jehan and indeed Enjolras, who had been growing annoyed at the hint of exclusion, appeared both satisfied by this answer.

Enjolras was undeniably startled by hearing someone call Grantaire ‘R’ after so many years. On that first day he had asked Grantaire if he had wanted to choose a name but the suggestion had fallen flat. Not inclined to force Grantaire, he had called him R-19 and eventually, for abbreviation, R. A couple of months later Enjolras had been asking Grantaire about why he was called R-19 in the first place and Grantaire had explained the letter and number system GenTech had adopted. Enjolras had expressed distaste at this, saying that they could have at least been thoughtful enough to think up some names, even if they were common ones like John or Peter. Enjolras had said that a Grand R followed by numbers was not a suitable name, no offense, but that if Grantaire liked it then he would continue to use it. Grantaire had asked, "What about Grantaire? G-R-A-N-T-A-I-R-E. Would that be a suitable name?" Enjolras insisted that he had not been suggesting that Grantaire changed it, expressing regret for his lack of tact in saying what he had. Nonetheless, R-19 became Grantaire from that day on and Enjolras had called him Grantaire, at Grantaire's insistence, ever since.

GenTech, in their bid to integrate androids into society and avoid discovery, provided androids with documentation and proofs of identity so that they were able to exist as humans would. This was an addition to the long list of dubious activities that Enjolras had mentally compiled. It did, however, mean that Grantaire legally possessed the name and could live unplagued by his origins. Enjolras considered this a worthy trade-off.

Enjolras had assumed, incorrectly, that no one had called Grantaire ‘R’ since the change and began to wonder if it was something Grantaire had suggested or something people had noticed by themselves. The resurfacing of the name under the pretence of a familiar nickname made Enjolras regret showing such scorn, since the use of the single letter was both punchy and personal. Enjolras supposed he missed his chance at such familiarity. Grantaire’s use of Apollo had always made Enjolras feel included in some way, a name only Grantaire used. He didn’t like the name itself but would still hate for Grantaire to stop. Hearing Jehan call Grantaire R felt too much like that.

He asked Jehan, even though by then the conversation had moved on, "Did you notice the R yourself?"

"I'm not sure," he looked to Grantaire for confirmation as he said, "I think I was the first to use it, though."

Enjolras bristled, _no you weren't_.

Grantaire, sensing the building tension, said, "My family used it initially."

For some reason this didn't stop Enjolras' annoyance, despite how Grantaire had clearly said it to stop him feeling nullified. Enjolras couldn't decide if Grantaire was referring to him as family or GenTech. He liked neither. Initially, he placed his discontentment with a suspicion that Grantaire was being insincere in calling them family but he realised he actually disliked Grantaire seeing them as relatives. Which he considered strange since he ought to have been pleased for Grantaire to perceive them close enough to be relatives. It was certainly a title that few others would have the privilege to obtain so it should be an honour. Yet, the displeasure was certainly not born of a wish to be dissociated with Grantaire.

Enjolras, with a sense of trepidation, suspected he knew exactly why this might be. He just hoped that no else suspected the same.

***

It was typical that Enjolras’ laptop decided to stop working at a crucial point in a case, and he grew both huffy and panic-stricken immediately.

Grantaire calmly intervened while his back was turned.

Enjolras returned to a laptop screen that was now working but a suspicious shade of blue and a Grantaire sitting on the sofa drinking a black coffee.

“What is my laptop doing?”

“Fixing itself?”

Enjolras, trying to sound more scolding than he actually felt, said, “What have you done to it?”

Grantaire cocked an eyebrow, and smirked, “How could I have done it from way over here? Oh, please, Apollo. Be serious.”

“Is that a Matilda quote?”

“Of sorts.”

“I was going to say how grateful I am and how impressive it is but if it wasn’t you then….” He trailed off meaningfully, an air of playful goading.

Grantaire took another sip of coffee and replied, “Hardly impressive.”

The screen changed and the computer appeared to be typing all by itself onto an otherwise black screen. Enjolras couldn’t make out what was being typed as it was not in written word and was moving far too quickly. Regardless, he took his seat and watched in quiet interest.

Grantaire swiftly took the seat beside him and gave him a most quizzical look.

“It’s a screen, Apollo. Nothing exciting.”

Enjolras ignored the scepticism, “Are you doing it bit by bit or running a program?”

“Bit of both.”

“How long until it has finished?”

“A few minutes.”

Enjolras watched the screen expectantly and then absently said, “I wish I could do amazing things like this.”

Grantaire scowled, “You do lots of amazing things.”

“Not like this.”

“Who gives a shit about this though? It’s useful, sure, but it’s not amazing that I can do it,” Grantaire said with his brand of awkward modesty.

Enjolras looked at him, “I give a shit and I think it’s amazing.”

Grantaire chose not to answer, instead watching the screen with a peculiar, yet somewhat content, expression. Enjolras didn’t know where to look. He wanted to look at Grantaire, as always, but instead settled on the screen and its flitting text. He hoped that Grantaire couldn’t read him the way he could computers.

***

Soon enough the physical and emotional torture that made up Enjolras’ family Christmas party was upon them. It was riddled with tradition. The first being that it would be held on the 5th of December, regardless of day of the week. The second was that all guests were required to dress with ‘festivity’. The third, and seemingly most crucial tradition, was that it was opportunity for the over-privileged to display just how wealthy they were.

Enjolras despised the event openly and unabashedly. He liked Christmas, unlike Grantaire who was notably Scroogey, but the event itself was grotesque and redundant. Unfortunately, it was also compulsory that they both attend.

Aside from the obvious reasons he disliked returning home, namely the usual strange family dynamic, it was now worsened by the added humiliation of borrowing the money.

Enjolras’ father deeply disliked Grantaire. Enjolras had observed it carefully since he first suspected it and, while subtle since his father was mature enough for subtlety, it was definitely there. As they arrived at the party, early and both in immaculate suits as was required, Enjolras’ father greeted Grantaire with deliberate but refined briskness. This was made more obvious by its contrast with Enjolras’ mother’s greeting. She adored Grantaire as though he were her actual child. She flocked to them both and, in her elegant, dignified way doted on them with well wishes and affection. Enjolras’ brother was relatively indifferent to Grantaire; polite, pleasant but preoccupied elsewhere.

Then there was Hugo.

Half an hour later, Enjolras stood at the bar and watched across the room as Grantaire and Hugo spoke covertly by the floor to ceiling windows at the far end of the room. This was interesting on a number of levels. Firstly, despite Grantaire’s admission about communicating with code, Hugo was the only other android, to Enjolras’ knowledge, who Grantaire had any physical communication with. Enjolras imagined what fascinating and wonderful conversations they might be having.

Enjolras wondered if they communicated online together also. He watched the conversation and tried to decipher whether there was a second conversation happening underneath the first. It was impossible to tell. However, it was highly probable that any amount of information could be passing between them and that it would go completely unnoticed by observers. Hugo and Grantaire could be sharing jokes or conspiring or arguing and Enjolras would be none the wiser. The androids existed within a world that, try as they might, was impenetrable to humans. It was a world running seamlessly parallel to the human world, in which there was limitless knowledge, options and resources. Enjolras couldn’t comprehend how infinitely ahead of him Grantaire was because it all existed on a platform he couldn’t even access. He must appear so primitive and unintelligent in Grantaire’s estimations. Enjolras sometimes wished he could step into this world so that he could connect with Grantaire but it was an impossibility. Hugo had a deeper connection with Grantaire than Enjolras ever could. Enjolras felt as though he was trapped outside beating his fists against the glass.

Hugo was 6’4”, blonde and well built. If one was asked to design a perfect mesomorphic male, he would be the outcome. Obviously, much to Enjolras’ interest, someone had designed him. He was the perfect companion for his brother, whose interest in sport, courting women and personal image, benefited from a physically imposing and attractive companion. He was crafted exceedingly well but without imagination.

This was the second interesting thing. Both had been designed, supposedly, by Enjolras’ parents. Grantaire was neither tall nor wide, which by definition would make him small but somehow the apt word was compact. It was as though someone had taken something vast and then compressed it to a very high density. There was something weighty about Grantaire’s presence like that of a black hole. He lacked Hugo’s traditional masculine beauty but his features were perfectly balanced. He was neither too thin nor too stocky, his skin neither too fair nor too tanned, his hair neither straight nor too curly, his hands both delicate but also masculine. There was nothing about the design of Grantaire that was in excess, everything was in the right quantity. He had been designed by someone who understood the importance of moderation, who saw the beauty in uniqueness and who knew the perfection in imperfection.

He had been designed by Enjolras’ mother.

Enjolras had long assumed this was the case, that is, but had never asked. Enjolras imagined that his father had designed Hugo as he felt a man ought to be and by comparison Grantaire was not of equal measure, therefore inferior. Enjolras’ mother, who clearly did not consider Grantaire inferior, defended her creation with obvious favouritism.

Enjolras watched as Grantaire gesticulated at Hugo as they spoke. Enjolras knew that it was wrong of his mother to design Grantaire under the circumstances she had, but he couldn’t find fault in what she had created. Despite the turbulence of their relationship, Grantaire was still flawless in Enjolras’ eyes. The room was full of beautiful people yet he was watching Grantaire’s clever hands cut through the air with a sense of wonder. Without any conscious decision, Enjolras found himself weaving across the party, avoiding the lobbying socialites, to join Grantaire by the window.

“Hello, Enjolras,” Hugo said, in a rich, deep voice that somehow held measure and age.

“Hello.”

Hugo’s eyes were a chocolate brown, which Enjolras thought strangely human. Grantaire’s eyes were the brightest most vibrant blue conceivable in the natural, or unnatural, world. On meeting him, Enjolras had assumed that the blue was something to do with being an android, like laser vision or something, but apparently not. It was as though Enjolras’ mum, if it had indeed been her, had just decided, after such careful design, ‘ _fuck it, let’s go all out’_. However, Enjolras had long considered this to be his favourite feature. It gave Grantaire a surreal, otherworldly quality that only added to the gravity he already possessed.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Hugo asked with practiced politeness.

“Hardly,” Enjolras replied. “Are you?”

“I suppose not,” Hugo confessed. “Although, Grantaire has been improving my spirits.”

“Christmas spirit?” Enjolras teased.

Grantaire expelled a ‘Pfft’ sound and said, “I’m just here for Draco.” This was Grantaire’s nickname for Enjolras’ brother, bestowed due to his custom of referring to people, likely underlings, with a brisk mononym. Grantaire seemed to find it hysterical when anyone with the surname ‘Parker’, ‘Webber’ or indeed ‘Potter’ were in the vicinity.

Hugo did not appear offended by the comparison, having heard it many times before during their frequent three man escapades from the mainstream of a party. Apparently androids were not required to protect humans from ridicule. Hugo was in many ways one of the few tolerable things about returning home. He seemed quietly resentful towards the pantomime of money but also rather enraptured by it. Enjolras’ brother had not forced principled freedoms on him and therefore he was more measured and compliant than Grantaire. He was a perfectly constructed bridge between the two worlds.

Enjolras needed to speak with him urgently.

“Grantaire, could you get me a drink, please?”

Grantaire gawped at him, shocked by the suddenness. He went to argue but realising that Hugo, principled in serving humans, was watching, he slunk away with a backwards glance. He was too intelligent to see it for just a drink request and he was, rightly, suspicious.

Enjolras ushered Hugo into a quiet room and, suspecting that Grantaire would hear, down a corridor and into a darkened laundry closet. Hugo, blessed soul that he was, made no objections.

“Hugo,” Enjolras spoke rapidly, “I need to speak to you.”

Hugo’s voice replied from the near perfect blackness, “That’s good. I had my reservations.”

On realising Hugo’s joke, Enjolras replied, “Oh haha. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’ll try given the circumstances, although in truth I know I’m not your type.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean exactly that.”

There was a silence in the looming darkness.

“Okay. Well, we can discuss that another time,” Enjolras persevered through begrudging curiosity. “Can Grantaire hear us in here?”

“I thought we were discussing it another time.”

“We are,” Enjolras said, confused. “Hugo, can he hear or not?”

“No, he can’t hear.”

“Okay, well. I’m sure he’ll not take long, so I’ll be quick. I have a few questions to ask you about Grantaire. If you don’t feel comfortable with any particular question say so, but I really need your help.”

“Okay.”

Enjolras took this as an invitation to proceed.

“Have you noticed anything off about Grantaire?”

“Define off?”

“Unusual.”

“Unusual in comparison to others or unusual in comparison to his past self?” It was a good question; Enjolras considered.

“Both.”

“Yes to both.”

Enjolras sighed, “Why didn’t you just say yes?”

“Because I felt you yourself needed better clarification on the question to comprehend the answer.”

“Okay. Could you elaborate on either?”

“Grantaire has always been unusual; I mean this as a compliment. I think it is due to how you have taught him. Also, recently, Grantaire has acted strangely when compared to previous behaviour.” Enjolras wasn’t sure what to glean from that response. Hugo was extremely human in many respects but in comparison to Grantaire, his dialogue could become more robotic.

He decided it was easier to come at it from a different direction. “I ask because recently Grantaire has been having periods of bad mood, of low mood and I wondered if you had experienced the same.”

“Clarify these periods?”

“Brief periods lasting a few days to a week, with normal behaviour on either side.”

“Do the periods have an origin?”

“At the time?”

“Yes.”

“Not a clear one.”

“Then, no. My moods are always based on a clear origin. However, have you considered an origin that you are just unaware of?”

Enjolras wanted to hit his head against the inner door of the closet, “Yes, Hugo. That is why I am asking, to find the hidden origin.”

“I see. Well, if you ask me because I am an android also, then I assure you that that is not the origin.”

“Okay, thank you. That does help. Do you think I could be the cause?”

“Most likely.” Enjolras is poleaxed by the honesty. He felt a dread like cold creep up on him.

“Why?”

“Your brother is the origin of most of my moods.”

“I see. Do you think I could be upsetting Grantaire?”

Hugo was silent for a long time and Enjolras worried he wasn’t going to reply, but then, “I don’t know. He hasn’t said that he is upset with you. However, I doubt being sent to fetch a drink boded well.”

“Thank you, Hugo,” Enjolras derided.

“You are very welcome,” Hugo teased in return. “One thing, Enjolras, I know you have considered the origin of the moods individually but have you considered the overall picture?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you considered the origin of the first mood and, therefore, the origin of all subsequent moods?”

Only then, in a dark laundry closet, did a light come on.

It was so obvious Enjolras wondered how he hadn’t thought of it. Where had it all begun?

He thanked Hugo profusely and they returned to the party, under rather questionable glances.

***

 Obviously, Grantaire’s moods hadn’t always been so mercurial. For the first two or three years of knowing one another, his moods had been fairly predictable, or at least attributable to a cause. During that time, Grantaire had had to make astronomical adjustments and vast personal developments, and Enjolras, now enlightened, feared that something had happened all those years ago that had led Grantaire to feel this way. Regardless, it confirmed to Enjolras that the low moods were not innate to Grantaire and must be at least based on something.

The first time Enjolras can remember such an episode was at the end of their third year of university. They shared a flat and through permeation, shared a small circle of mutual friends. One Friday, Musichetta had a get together at the flat she shared with Joly and Bossuet but, in true university style, word travelled like wild fire and it turned into a full blown party.

Grantaire thrived in a party environment for a couple of reasons. Firstly, he liked to drink but couldn’t get drunk and secondly, he liked to use this as a means of mischief. He had the power to appear as sober or drunk as he so chose, and would arrange games and pranks and contests that he was naturally immune to. Consequently, he found himself at the centre of a party atmosphere and always called forth to choose the music or conjure the entertainment (the exception being the parties at Enjolras’ parents’ house as Grantaire considered them stuffy). While Enjolras took a more laid back approach he found parties quite enjoyable and was in a buzzing, amicable sort of mood that night.

Enjolras had weaved through the crowd towards the kitchen but found himself in a quiet and mercifully cool pocket of air near the airing cupboard. As he waited for an opening in order to proceed, Grantaire slid along the door and stood pressed to his right side.

“Hey,” Grantaire murmured, a wry smirk pulling across his lips.

“Hey,” Enjolras replied, and then clocking the grin, lightly added, “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“What. Did. You. Do?” He teasingly poked Grantaire in the ribs with each drawn out syllable.

Grantaire wriggled and then relinquished, “I’m hiding from someone.”

“Who?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does if I am to help you.”

Grantaire’s grin only seemed to spread, “I knew I could get you on board.”

Enjolras affably huffed, “I said no such thing.”

“But you were thinking of saying yes and that’s as good as.”

“Do you read minds now?”

Grantaire faltered before saying, “I wish.”

They both briefly watched the crowd, more by default than with any real suspicion.

“Did you prank someone again?” Enjolras continued conspiratorially, realising that the alcohol gently rolling around his system was bringing out his roguish side.

Grantaire considered. “Not exactly,” he said. “Do you remember that girl I broke up with at the beginning of the year?” Enjolras did. He hadn’t liked her, too pushy and too hopelessly smitten.

Enjolras hadn’t known what to expect with Grantaire’s sexuality. He had assumed he would lean towards asexual due to the lack of biological incentive but it appeared that the emotional and social draw of a relationship overrode this. At the time, Enjolras hadn’t put any special thought into it but if he did, it raised many mechanical and logistical questions that he would be too embarrassed to ask. Regardless, Grantaire, in his apparent attempts to integrate and develop, has pursued a number of brief relationships with an assortment of girls, none of which seemed to find anything amiss. He didn’t appear to have a particular type and Enjolras assumed that Grantaire was still in the process of figuring that out. Between dating the girl mentioned and the conversation they now shared at the party some months later, Grantaire had been notably unattached, leading Enjolras to wonder whether a type had been established. Enjolras could relate to this, being in a similar boat himself. He had gone to an all-boys private school and had had little interaction with women. For this reason, he had assumed that once in the vicinity of girls at university, he would find someone he fancied, but when faced with the two genders side by side it was only the men he noticed in that way.

“I remember her,” Enjolras had said.

“Well, she is here. I don’t think she knows ‘Chetta but whatever. Bahorel told me he saw her,” Grantaire leaned in ominously for emphasis, “on the prowl.”

Enjolras laughed, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“I assure you it is. She asked Bahorel if I was here and he had to cover for me,” Grantaire said, his tone only half serious in the display of espionage. Enjolras was certain the story was only partially true, being told for his amusement. He was amused.

“I guess you must have a way with the ladies,” Enjolras said teasingly, and at this point he knew himself to be tipsy as he would never have said something so ridiculous while sober. Ironically, the statement did appear to hold a lot of truth based on his observations. Grantaire was dangerously charming when he wanted to be.

However, at the statement, Grantaire had frowned and said, “I suppose.”

Enjolras hadn’t appeared to appraise the change in attitude and persevered, “So, what is the plan of action? The plan to elude capture?”

The return of the spirited temper somewhat restored Grantaire and he had whispered, “If I can sneak onto the patio then she is unlikely to track me. From there, I can assume cover if need be. I will have to get through this hallway and then through the kitchen undetected. The route is littered with obstacles and possible hostiles. Can I rely on you for cover, to have my back in crisis?” Grantaire spoke like a cadet, his voice low but mouth pressed into a suppressed grin. Enjolras loved times like these, when Grantaire would make simple things fun and make you feel important to be chosen to share in them.

“Sir, yes, Sir,” Enjolras had barked through a snigger and an accompanied salute. Grantaire’s smile finally escaped and the hallway was basked in its contented glow.

The next 20 minutes had been spent fluctuating between careful manoeuvre and comical slow-mo, and by the time they reached the secluded patio, Enjolras’ breath was catching in laughter and Grantaire’s eyes were dancing in delight. They flopped down onto a low wall, the thrum of the music close enough to prevent a sense of stillness.

“Did you see her?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire had looked at him quizzically for a brief moment before he answered, “No, no, but I heard her.”

“Was it a close call?”

“It’s all good. We pulled it off and of course I’ve got your vigilant aid to thank,” Grantaire held up his glass and touched its rim onto Enjolras’. Halfway through traversing the kitchen Grantaire had slyly poured them both new drinks claiming it raised the stakes. Enjolras had appreciated the gesture.

“Happy to help,” Enjolras said, for lack of something better. Grantaire had seemed pleased nonetheless.

They had sat on the wall in the comfortable June evening and sipped their drinks in companionable silence.

Finally, Grantaire had spoken, “Enjolras, do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Grantaire, I told you before you don’t have to ask my permission for that,” his words were reproachful but his tone hadn’t been.

Grantaire, apparently weighed down by something unapparent, waited until Enjolras verbally clarified that he could in fact ask the question.

After this, he begun with, “I don’t know how to approach this. I guess it’s quite unusual and, err, unorthodox but I’ll let you to be the final judge of that. I know that having me around has been challenging for you and that you’ve been very patient with me. I appreciate that. In fact, I appreciate a lot of things you’ve done for me, I’m very lucky that I didn’t end up with someone else that day. That’s not the point I’m tryin’ to make though. I guess I’m nervous. Anyway, I wanted to say, well, ask-”

There was a shout for Grantaire from the open doorway, an apparent calling to arms of the resident drinking game organiser. Grantaire had startled in a way Enjolras had never seen him before or since. He seemed utterly astonished that such a beckoning had been made. He glanced about himself in dissociated dismay, gaping and flustering at the intrusion. He then looked at Enjolras, his expression strange, and pleaded, “I-. I have to go. They’ll only nag and loiter until I do. Could you wait here? It won’t take long, I promise. Please,” he paused. “Please, just, wait.”

He then got up and hurried inside, as though the faster he got there the faster he got back.

Enjolras waited as he had been asked. He considered what Grantaire had been saying and began to worry about the meaning. He had long felt like a prison to Grantaire, chaining him down and affecting his choices. He had previously told Grantaire that he was free to leave if he so wished but Grantaire had always stayed. Enjolras assumed it was out of fear for the consequences but the direction of this speech suggested that Grantaire had actually been staying out of a sense of loyalty. It had sounded a lot like the starting of a diplomatic goodbye. Enjolras thought about how they had been laughing not 5 minutes earlier. Things between them had started out rocky and the idea of friendship had seemed impossible but now faced with losing Grantaire, Enjolras felt rather uneasy.

The minutes had stretched out as he waited.

He grew anxious about the impending conversation and was about to get up to look for Grantaire when a figure descended the steps into the garden. It hadn’t been Grantaire. The figure, outlined by the lights indoors, lit a cigarette and took a couple of slow, lazy drags. Enjolras sat rigid like he was frozen in time. Nevertheless, the figure stilled on noticing him and extended a greeting in his direction. Before Enjolras could issue a reply the figure approached and was revealed to be a young man, tall with short blond hair in a stylish asymmetrical cut. On properly seeing Enjolras, he gleamed and immediately took the seat that Grantaire had left. Enjolras, bound by duty to wait for Grantaire, stayed put and embarked on a reasonably pleasant conversation with the newcomer. This progressed to an exchanging of anecdotal stories and laughter.

Enjolras had been expressively retelling the story of his disastrous family holiday to Rhodes and therefore only noticed Grantaire when he was stood a few feet away.

Grantaire seemed awkward and aloof. He said, “I got you a drink,” before he held up two cups redundantly.

Enjolras said, “Thanks. Everything okay? What took so long?”

Grantaire had shrugged, the drinks shaking with the gesture. Enjolras had only then read into the atmosphere.

“Sorry, we were just chatting while I waited for you.”

Grantaire’s face was an impassive mask, “It’s okay. I’ll see you in a bit.” He seemed guarded but not necessarily annoyed, handing Enjolras his drink and leaving with a terse wave.

The newcomer asked, “Am I interrupting something?”

“Well,” Enjolras griped with an answer. “It’s too late now, so don’t worry.”

However, he couldn’t concentrate on the party after that, worrying about Grantaire’s question and the possible subsequent departure from Enjolras’ life. At the earliest opportunity, as they returned home, Enjolras had asked Grantaire whether he would like to ask his question. Grantaire seemed apprehensive.

“Was it about leaving?” Enjolras asked, fearing the worst.

“Pardon?”    

“I told you that you didn’t have to stay. I don’t want to stop you so if you want to go then you can. I won’t stop you, I promise. I won’t be angry if that’s what you want.” Enjolras was still tipsy and babbling. He had a tendency to over-share his emotions when tipsy in a way that social expectations and self-censorship would otherwise prevent him.

“You think I want to leave?”

“Well, what else could you be asking? Don’t stay on my behalf, Grantaire. I think it would be good for you to have some time away, to find yourself. I know this must all be very difficult for you,” Enjolras tried to sound unaffected and encouraging.

Grantaire had looked away and muttered, “I don’t want to leave.”

“Okay. Whatever you want.”

“It isn’t really about what I want.”

Enjolras had hated those words since day one.

The following day, Grantaire fell into the first episode, lasting over two weeks. Obviously it had everything to do with whatever Grantaire had been about to ask. Enjolras now knew, on remembrance, that Grantaire had initially come to him for help and circumstance had got in the way. He had failed and he knew that this was why he had been cut out ever since. He was no longer the comrade that Grantaire trusted to watch his back. He had had his chance and he had somehow blown it without fully understanding why. Since then all he had been able to do was probe but the door had closed on him and no matter what key he tried he was still locked out. The puzzle of it hurt his head while the finality of it hurt somewhere in his chest.

***

Enjolras had mulled over the events of that evening for much of the 5th of December party and his mother had been concerned by how withdrawn he had been. He was usually withdrawn at these events so obviously this had been quite exceptionally so.

“Enjolras? Sweetheart? Are you upset about the apartment?”

It had scarcely crossed his mind but he realised that must be how it seemed. “No, I’m okay. I mean I am disappointed in myself, certainly, but I’m not upset.”

“There is no need to be disappointed in yourself. It was a good investment and I was more than happy to help you.”

He smiled at her, “I appreciate it, mum. I promise to pay you back.”

“Oh, Enjolras, please. You don’t have to do that.”

“I hate owing people money.”

“We’re your parents, I’m your mother, you don’t have to pay me back.”

“I paid you back for my student fees.”

“And I told you not to then as well. Okay, consider this a gift then. A Christmas present.”

“No, mum-”

“Enjolras, what is your issue with receiving gifts?”

“I don’t have an issue,” he groaned.

“Oh, you do. You always have.” She stopped to consider, “Is this about Grantaire?”

“Pardon?”

“This insistence on not receiving any help from us?”

“No. Why would Grantaire suggest I do that? I decided it for myself.”

“No, no.” She waved a petite, gloved hand. “Was the gift of Grantaire the start of it all?” She didn’t speak as though referring to Grantaire as a ‘gift’ was as property but as one would describe a new-born child as a ‘gift’.

Enjolras reflected. It hadn’t occurred to him but the two events had both happened when he turned 18 and in that order. He had been very cross about the gift at the time and had not hesitated to make his disgust at their overindulgence and thoughtlessness known. In all honesty, he couldn’t say for certain that the occasions were not related.

“I don’t know. Not directly. Not consciously, anyway. I was angry at the time but I’m not still angry about it. I still disagree on principle but I,” he faltered at the ensuing confession, “I am glad now.”

“Glad we gave you Grantaire?” Her tone was hopeful.

“Yes.”

A warm and unguarded smile swept across her usually serene façade. “I am so pleased,” she stopped to compose herself but couldn’t. “I am so very relieved. I felt so guilty; I felt like the most terrible mother, that I had disappointed you so very much. You have to understand that I didn’t mean to offend you. And I was so sad when you said you didn’t want him, I didn’t know what to do.” She looked across the room at Grantaire, her expression soft. “I hadn’t thought of it like you did. I didn’t see it as slavery, those documents, to me, were just the rules they wrote to cover themselves. I just thought that he was the most wonderful thing and that you would think so too. I thought that you would finally have a friend who was clever, articulate and academic, like you are. I suppose I am an idealist.”

She stopped herself then and seemed distracted by her own thoughts. It was as though she had had this bottled up for years and, due to Enjolras’ immediate declaration of disapproval, had never shared her aspirations with him. He realised that Grantaire would never have been taken away if he had refused to keep him. His mother would have kept him. When she had used the phrase ‘terrible mother’ she had not just been referring to Enjolras. Yes, Enjolras was her son, her flesh and blood, but Grantaire was the child she had painstakingly designed. Indeed, she had designed him as a companion for Enjolras, but somewhere along the way she had grown to love Grantaire herself.

Enjolras realised how different things could have been. By behaving as he had he had created a rift between himself and his parents, and indeed, Grantaire and his parents. He had made Grantaire into something that he didn’t want and therefore something that they shouldn’t expect him to want. His mother was desperate for Enjolras to want Grantaire but had spent years afraid to talk about it since he had made the subject so taboo. Grantaire had become something that she was, unspokenly, not allowed to discuss with him. He understood he had never properly talked about any aspect of it with her and that she was someone who would have been very understanding. His actions had hurt everyone involved, especially Grantaire, as he had cut him off from a source of love and acceptance.

Enjolras felt dejected.

Despite this new perspective on his mother’s view, Enjolras still also maintained his previous opinion, resulting in a conflict of justifiable viewpoints. Her intentions had been good but regardless, she had created a person to be born into slavery, somehow made worse by her appreciation that Grantaire indeed qualified as a person. She viewed him like he was human but also that it was acceptable for him to be a slave. Enjolras had a sinking feeling that this was the product of a wealthy and over-privileged mind-set.

Additionally, the insinuation that Enjolras was so utterly, hopelessly friendless that he needed his own mother to literally build one for him and that this somehow justified everything was somewhat hurtful.

However, now was not the time to dwell. Now was his chance to make it right, or at least more so.

“Mum? Can I ask you a few questions about Grantaire?”       

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“You designed him, didn’t you?”

Her eyes danced, “How did you know?”

“I just did.”

She smiled in contented modesty, “Yes. I designed him. Your father got to design Hugo and I didn’t think that Hugo would be so very well suited to you. Not that Hugo isn’t also wonderful in his own way.” She briskly added, “I know it will make you cross to hear me speak as such. You will think we were playing God and we were. I do understand your point now, I honestly do. It was not our place, it’s no one’s place but it is done now and I don’t regret it.”

He patted her arm, “It’s okay mum, I understand.” He couldn’t say that he really didn’t but he tried to appear to. “Can I ask why you thought Hugo wasn’t suited to me?”

“Oh Honey,” she smiled affectionately. “You are not that sort of boy. You used to sit in your room for hours reading about unsolved world mysteries, Roman politics and the Berlin Wall, while your brother used to play polo and host pool parties. You needed someone who would be a friend to you.”

“I still like Hugo.”

“Oh, I know. Hugo is really rather charming. He turned out very well but,” she glanced back over at Grantaire, “Grantaire is special and I don’t just say that because I designed him.”

Enjolras found this comment strange. Not that he disagreed, since he thought Grantaire to be extremely special, if the fluttering in his chest at the mention of Grantaire’s name was anything to go by. It felt odd to hear someone voice praise for Grantaire and him not have to feel guilty for continuously bringing him up. However, there was something he really needed to ask, “Mum. Do you only design the physical or do you get to select other things?”

“You mean personal qualities? Oh, no, I didn’t get to choose those. As far as I can tell nobody does.”

“So, they’re not given a personality?” Enjolras was irked at the idea.

“They were not given a preconceived personality,” his mother corrected. Enjolras immediately understood the distinction.

“That is better,” he commented. “That’s how it should be.”

She agreed.

***

Grantaire, unsurprisingly, was not in the most exemplary mood as he drove Enjolras home. Enjolras decided to eat his pride and just address the issue.

“Grantaire, I’m sorry I told you to get me a drink. It was underhanded but I needed to speak to Hugo in private and I didn’t want to dismiss you by saying so.”

“So, you dismissed me with something you both knew to be a lie,” Grantaire huffed.

“Yes, and I am apologising.”

They both fell into silence. Either the apology was insufficient or there was something else bothering Grantaire. And, so, the investigation resumed.

“It wasn’t something bad, Grantaire. It was just private.”

“I gathered that.”

“Did you hear us?”

Grantaire looked both distraught and disgusted. He didn’t answer.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras persisted. “If you overheard what we were saying then please tell me.”

“What you were _saying_?” Grantaire sneered.

“Well, of course. What else-” He realised the implications, “Oh for God’s sake! You too? Is everyone’s mind in the gutter? Hugo was joking about it too when I took him into the laundry closet and I told him not to flatter himself. Seriously? You honestly thought I was hooking up with Hugo?”

Grantaire’s expression was too vast a mix of emotions for one to be placed. His eyebrows drew together for a moment and then he laughed, “Ha, Apollo. Do you actually hear yourself?”

Enjolras scowled at Grantaire but Grantaire had begun laughing in earnest. On replaying his own words, Enjolras also eventually began to laugh. The use of the nickname confirmed that Grantaire was no longer annoyed.

After a time, Grantaire said, “You’re by far the most innocent person I know. Probably ever. You dragged someone into an actual closet and didn’t even notice the implications, even after they pointed them out.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras puffed, getting his breath. “I’m sorry that I’m not some sex crazed lunatic, thinking there are other purposes to closets. I had something important to discuss and I suppose I just didn’t think.”       

“Typical you. Always on the trail.”

“How so?”

“You can’t let something go,” Grantaire said. “You have to see things through even if it leads you to a laundry closet at a Christmas party.”

Enjolras wanted to read more into it, follow the trail, but he was tired and couldn’t muster the energy.

He felt quite sleepy, in fact, and began to snuggle himself into the leather seat. As he drifted off he thought he might have said, “Grantaire. You are wonderful, my mum said so.” Although, one can never be too sure.

***

As luck would have it, Enjolras had barely a week to contemplate and investigate his findings from that night before fate played its hand.

On the Thursday morning, Enjolras was sat at his desk batting case ideas to-and-fro with Courfeyrac when his phone rung.

He answered without trepidation, “Hello, Enjolras speaking.”

The voice at the other end, official and polite, said, “Hello Enjolras. This is Rachel from GenTech. We are very sorry to bother you at work but this is of the utmost urgency.”

Enjolras couldn’t place Rachel’s face but he had a suspicion it was Professor Lamarque’s receptionist. Even though her voice was calm, Enjolras had panicked immediately. “Has something happened to Grantaire?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. Please don’t be alarmed. We are having to call all owners. I am certain that this won’t affect you, but for legal reasons we need to see you at our offices today.”

Enjolras was less panicked but no less concerned, “I’m at work today, would it be for long? I can have a word with my boss. If not, I can arrange something for tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid it has to be today and you could be here for some time. I apologise profusely for the invasion of your privacy but someone has called your boss as we are speaking and provided a reason for your need for sudden absence. They’ve told them that you have been asked by the police to give a statement on something you witnessed. Again, I am sorry. A car is waiting for you outside.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, final chapter! Thought I'd set 2017 off with a new chapter...
> 
> Shout out to my lovely beta [lorriesherbet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorriesherbet) and massive thank you for reading and the lovely comments.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy and have a happy New Year!

Enjolras began to worry, “How do I know you are who you say you are?”

“Call GenTech on the number you have and ask. Enjolras, please do not notify Grantaire of your visit. Thank you for your co-operation and we will see you shortly.” She hung up.

Enjolras called the GenTech number and found himself back on the line with Rachel. It was proof enough.

He briefly explained to Courfeyrac that he had to go give a statement to the police and bustled out of the room before he could be stopped for questioning. In the hall he bumped into his boss who appeared, as Rachel predicted, very understanding.

As promised, an expensive and spacious black saloon car waited at the curb outside the building.

On arrival at GenTech, Enjolras was directed straight from the waiting room and into Professor Lamarque’s office. He had never seen beyond the waiting room before and surveyed the space. Lamarque had a surprisingly small office but on closer inspection it only seemed so because it was so overfilled with furniture, ornaments and large potted plants. It would seem cluttered but everything was orderly and tidy.

“Hello, Enjolras. Do come and take a seat.” Lamarque didn’t sit on the other side of a desk, but with the desk against the wall so they both sat adjacent to it. It gave a more personal, hospitable feel.

Enjolras sat and was offered a cup of tea by Professor Lamarque’s assistant, which he accepted.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Enjolras. I am aware we have not spoken all that much and therefore perhaps this visit has surprised you.”

“Yes. Why was I not to call Grantaire? Shouldn’t this involve him?”

Lamarque nodded a total understanding, “Absolutely. Of course I agree but this is a somewhat precarious and specific problem. Allow me to explain. Over the weekend it came to light that through indirect means someone was killed by their android.”

Enjolras exclaimed, “How?”

“I’m afraid I am not at liberty to say but they managed to sidestep the rules. Obviously the company as a whole cannot allow this to go uninvestigated and don’t want it to be repeated.”

“So, you are going to take Grantaire away?” Enjolras said, distressed.

“No, no. Nothing like that. That would be extreme at this stage.”

“But you want to know about him? If I’ve noticed anything?”

 “No, I am not concerned about that. I know Grantaire wouldn’t harm you and that’s quite the point. Androids are people, they are all different. They all have different motives and feelings, as we do, hence why I am doing the work I am.”

Lamarque considered.

“As you may already know my work involves interviewing all androids annually. This involves a machine that only allows them to speak truthfully. While I consider this difficult to do as it’s emotionally testing, it is a suitable measure since androids would not set off a polygraph. The footage of the android in question has been reviewed and, while they spoke the truth, they answered indirectly with certain, shall I say, circumstantial facts that only their owner and those who knew them would have understood as veering towards harmful intent. Therefore, I did not flag it up. They were very clever with their wording and answers. The owner, like you, had opted out of watching the footage, which the android knew, and therefore they themselves were left unaware to the danger they were in. This is why I have been asked to call you in under such sudden and secretive circumstances. GenTech is requesting that all owners who have not watched this footage of their androids must do so, otherwise the legal clause of recall due to potential for harm will be put into effect.”

Lamarque finished and patiently awaited Enjolras’ response.

“So,” Enjolras said slowly. “I have to watch Grantaire’s interview footage otherwise they will take him away?”

Lamarque’s expression is sympathetic, “I am afraid so.”

“But it’s personal. It is an invasion of his privacy,” He exclaimed suddenly very loud in the cramped office. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just there is a reason I’ve always opted out.”

“I understand, Enjolras,” Lamarque’s voice was gentle and compassionate, “I would have done the same in your place. Obviously, I have seen the footage and if I could I would assure GenTech on your behalf that it is not necessary but that’s not possible. I’m sure you must appreciate that they can’t take any chances where lives are involved.”

Enjolras’ head was buried in his hands at this point, “Grantaire will feel so betrayed. I promised him from the start that I would never invade his privacy like that. It isn’t fair that I should see it and that he wouldn’t get an equivalent.”

“Granted, I am certain that Grantaire will not be pleased but I doubt he will hold you accountable. I will certainly make it clear to him when I see him that you didn’t betray his trust. At the end of the day, Grantaire would prefer you do watch it than for you two be separated.”

Enjolras nodded slowly, suddenly very emotional, “Professor Lamarque, I really don’t want to watch it but if I do, can you promise that he won’t be taken away.”

“I can promise you that, Enjolras. In fact,” he then chuckled, “in classic GenTech style, I have a legal document that will set things to that effect.” He gestured to the thin sliver of papers and pen on his desk. Enjolras realised he had been so distracted he hadn’t noticed them previously.

“Okay,” he reached for the document and began to read. While he did so, Lamarque tactfully left the room and some minutes later returned with their tea.

“Finished?”

Enjolras was poised to sign but his hand had begun shaking. He replaced the pen onto the desk and fretfully ran his hands through his hair. He was terrified of what he would see when he watched the tapes, unsure if his feelings for Grantaire would be hurt by what could be stark rejection.

“I’m sorry,” he said unnecessarily, since Lamarque was far from annoyed. “I’m just nervous. Six years is a lot of footage and I don’t begrudge the time spent watching it, it’s not that at all, but there will be undoubtedly things I wasn’t meant to see, wasn’t meant to know. I’m just nervous about that, about how it could change everything. What if my knowing something I shouldn’t spoils everything? What if we can’t continue as before because I know too much? Obviously I am going to watch it but either way I could end up losing Grantaire.”

Enjolras wasn’t really talking to Lamarque by the end, just to himself out loud so when Lamarque replied, he was startled. “Enjolras. As someone who has watched, and indeed performed the interview for the footage you are about to see, I can assure you that nothing bad will come of this. Not unless you choose to make it into something bad.”

Enjolras was not completely mollified but he could understand the Professor’s reasoning so he quickly signed before he could think on it much more.

Lamarque nodded his approval, “Okay, Enjolras. Thank you. I appreciate it. What I will do is show you into a quiet office we’ve prepared. Once you’re settled in, we’ll show you the footage in chronological order. After each tape someone will come in and offer you drinks and snacks, and in a few hours, at a good interval, we will provide you with lunch. If you need a break, then there’ll be a phone in the room and you can dial 9. Do you have any questions?”

“Will someone tell Grantaire I’m here?”

“We won’t contact Grantaire while you are watching the tapes but we can contact him afterwards if you need. Obviously, it is up to you whether you tell Grantaire about watching the tapes or not.”

“Okay.” Enjolras resigned himself.

Enjolras allowed himself to be led into a small and cosy office that had been converted into a rather unconventional cinema room. There was a large flat screen TV and an assortment of chairs, ranging from a large leather sofa to standard four legged chairs. Enjolras perched himself onto a snug armchair with a good view of the screen and placed his tea on a convenient end table. He was left alone in the room and therefore left to his building nerves. He had not had sufficient time to prepare himself. He was exceedingly anxious but also, guiltily, excited. He had a certainty that the footage would reveal the cause to Grantaire’s moods. Perhaps it could be a good thing, a means of him helping Grantaire overcome them. In honesty, he had no idea what to expect from the footage so when the lights went down and the screen lit up in preparatory blue, he began to jitter.

Tape 1 – 6 months

The screen came into focus onto Grantaire sitting at a wooden table in a plainly decorated room. Beside him sat a mass of interconnecting wires, all fixed into a standalone machine, consisting almost entirely of exposed hardware. A number of the wires ran onto the table top and disappeared into slots in Grantaire’s forearms. Otherwise, Grantaire looked as he always did. Enjolras was not shocked by the wires as he had seen the slots before when Grantaire charged himself, although he didn’t appear to like Enjolras seeing.

The interview began with Lamarque asking, from off camera, if Grantaire was comfortable and then some stilted pleasantries.

Initially, Enjolras didn’t follow the conversation well, it mainly being about a time before they had met. Lamarque asked Grantaire about where he had been staying and about the things he had learnt. It was quite interesting once Enjolras got his footing, as Lamarque was quizzing Grantaire on human social structure and behaviour.

Eventually Lamarque asked how Grantaire was settling in. Enjolras realised this was in reference to when Grantaire had moved in with him and his family.

Grantaire shrugged, “Okay, I suppose.” It was so typical of Grantaire that Enjolras was overcome with fondness.

Lamarque asked, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t really have a good way of measuring how settled I am.”

“Well, what is your house like, your room like?”

“It is nicer than at the facility. It’s big, too big, I think. Things echo sometimes but I think that might be the marble floors on the ground floor. It has a lot of books in its library which I like and I like the garden. It has woodland and a lake.” Enjolras remembered Grantaire loving the library, much like he did.

“Okay, R-19, that sounds lovely. What about the people?” Enjolras gathered this must have been before Grantaire became Grantaire, he hadn’t realised it had taken over 6 months.

“Well, the family itself has four people, then the brother’s android and then they have two maids or cleaners, whichever you prefer, a driver, a PA for each parent, four gardeners-“

“R-19, that is not what I meant. What are the four people in the family like?” Enjolras’ stomach jumped.

Grantaire seemed put out at being directed back to the question. “Well, I don’t know the father very well. He doesn’t talk a lot to me. The mother is quite friendly, but she doesn’t really know how to act around me. It is like she is speaking to a foreigner, slow and deliberate. She is kind though so it’s not a problem. The older brother is quite pushy and loud but I think generally not malicious.” Grantaire stopped and thought, clearly not wanting to comment on Enjolras.

Lamarque prompted, “What about Enjolras? He’s who you’re registered to. What do you think of him?” Enjolras felt a tightness in his chest as he realised that at any moment Grantaire could reveal a dislike for him.

Grantaire frowned, “I’m not sure.”

“Why is that?”            

“I don’t know what I am supposed to think of him. Am I supposed to like him more or less than the others? I have more opinions on him certainly but they are less easily explained.”

“Okay. Why don’t I ask you some more questions on it?”

Grantaire’s expression was not one of agreement but he nodded.

“What did you think when you first met him?”

Grantaire winced but did eventually answer, “It didn’t happen as I expected it would. I thought it would have gone differently.” It was an evasion of the question.

“What happened?”

Grantaire sighed, “I was there with his parents and Mr Newbridge, they showed him in and he sat down. He was confused; no one had told him. At the facility they told us this might be the case, so I was not surprised. When they did tell him, he was angry and left the room.”

“Did that surprise you?”

“I wouldn’t say surprise.” Grantaire grimaced, “It was something I had considered could happen.”

“Could you explain what you mean?”

Grantaire groaned, “I suppose so. I mean that, the person I belong to isn’t the person who designed me, so I had considered the possibility that the person I belong to may not want me.”

“You think he didn’t want you?”

“He said so numerous times, emphatically.”

“Why do you think that could be?”

“When I’ve considered it, I thought it could be because the person would have chosen a different design and things were not as they liked.” He had been generalising since the question had allowed scope for it.

“But why in this case?”

“He didn’t agree with my existence on ethical grounds,” Grantaire gave the statement no inflections. Enjolras was finding the whole thing difficult to watch. He had almost hoped the watching of the footage had been a ruse up to this point.

“What grounds?” The interview was like pulling teeth.

“He said it was slavery and consumerism. He had clearly not been aware of androids or GenTech at all before I arrived.” Grantaire added, “He was very upset with his parents.”

“What did they think?”

“Not a lot. I suppose his dad was annoyed. His mum didn’t say anything but she looked sad.”

“How so?”

“She looked on the verge of crying.”

“Why do you think that was?”

“I don’t know. I could try to guess.”

“It’s okay. What happened next?”

“He said he would keep me because he didn’t want me to be taken away and destroyed. That he was cross but that he would still keep me.”

“So, that was good, at least.”

“I suppose.” Enjolras wanted to look away but couldn’t. It was so distressing to watch Grantaire discuss their now distant past with such detachment. Grantaire remained extremely reluctant to answer with more than he had to.

“How did his initial rejection affect you?”

“Affect me? Well, it would have led to me ceasing to exist. I would say it affected me a lot.”

“But how did you feel about that?”

Grantaire frowned at the wording but answered, “Negatively. I know I am not like you but I wouldn’t like to cease to be.”

There was a substantial delay in Lamarque’s next question.

“Thank you. And how,” Lamarque paused weightily, “And how did the idea of having to live with someone who had initially not wanted you make you feel?”

“It wasn’t a very good start to things. It made me feel,” he paused at the word but continued, “…uncomfortable. He didn’t want me there. I suppose he still doesn’t want me there, although he doesn’t say so. I am there due to circumstance and he makes the best of it.”

“Do you get along?”

“Not especially. He is well-meaning, like his mother is, and he also doesn’t know how to talk to me normally. Perhaps that will change. I feel like he has an agenda. Like, despite keeping me, he doesn’t intend to use me for my designed purpose. Like he is cross at his parents, maybe also at me, for the way things are and,” Grantaire looked off to the right in thought, revealing that the back of the inside of his head was exposed and wires were curling out of the space and joining to the machine. Enjolras had not seen this before and was staggered but had little time to think as Grantaire continued, “and actually he is just quite cross. At a lot of things and this is just another one of them. He seems to think the world is a terrible place and the last thing it needs is robot slaves. I suppose that is not such a bad thing but it doesn’t really bode well for us ‘getting along.’”

“What do you think of his objections? About the idea of slavery?”

“By definition, that is what I am.” He paused, “I think he is right.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Grantaire frowned yet again at the wording. “I don’t know what it is like to not be one. I assume it is better not to be one. Overall, Enjolras isn’t too bad to be a slave for, if that is what we are calling it-“

“We aren’t,” Lamarque seemed to rebel against the word being allowed to set in.

“Fine. As I was saying, he lets me do as I please. Which I suppose is good. Sometimes it can be annoying though because that is not how I was designed and it leads to conflict.”

“Arguments?”

“Yes, but I think it is to do with the agenda. I thought I would be told what to do all the time but he wants to tell me to do what I want. I don’t really know what I want, plus what I want isn’t always an option.”

The line of questioning moved on to other things. Lamarque asked how Grantaire was about to go to university with Enjolras and Grantaire had seemed quite keen on going. They talked a little on Grantaire’s choice of course and the university location, whether it suited Grantaire. Grantaire expressed no particular preference to the university but talked at length about his love of language, peppered with anecdotes and reviews of the books from the library.

The screen cut to black. Enjolras sat in his chair, mortified only after the first tape. It had been very difficult to watch and he felt tearfully embarrassed. There had been a part of him that had secretly hoped that Grantaire would have expressed how much he liked Enjolras and therefore give Enjolras a sense of reciprocation. Naturally, this was not the case and both heartbroken at the crushing of this pipedream and also horrified at the starkness of the tape’s honesty, Enjolras was distraught.

When the lights came up and Lamarque’s assistant, Annie, came in to offer drinks and snacks, Enjolras bounded up and asked if he could speak to him. She didn’t appear surprised by this and led Enjolras back to Lamarque’s office.

Enjolras immediately began, “I’m sorry. I can’t watch it. It’s too difficult.”

Lamarque too seemed unsurprised, “I expected it would be hard for you but I must insist that you try to.”

“Can I just say I did?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“But he hates me. I can’t watch that.”

Lamarque smiled meaningfully, “Enjolras, I assure you that he doesn’t hate you. It is only the first tape. By that point you’ve basically only just met and you didn’t get off to the best start. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know.” Then feeling the need to justify himself, added, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t do it to hurt his feelings. I wouldn’t do that to him. I just didn’t like the idea of him having to be my property.”

“I know,” Lamarque placated. “But please keep watching.”

Enjolras turned in silent, begrudging compliance and found Annie already there. She led him back and brought him tea and biscuits. As she placed them on the end table she said, “I promise it will get easier.” Enjolras wondered how much she knew.

Tape 2 – 1.5 years

Enjolras calculated that, with them meeting in the March, the footage was filmed around September or October at the beginning of the new school year. At this point they would have attended their first year and be about to start their second.

The first 20 minutes of the tape were Grantaire discussing the course and what he had learnt. Lamarque was, as expected, well read and the conversation flowed smoothly. Enjolras noticed that the pair had a better rapport for this tape.

The conversation got onto sci-fi and Grantaire mentioned that they had watched _Blade Runner_ together. This seemed to astound Lamarque.

“You watched it with Enjolras?”

“Yes, why?”

“He let you watch it?”

“Well, why not? It didn’t upset me.”

“Okay. What did you think of it?”

“I hated it,” Grantaire said and then laughed.

“What aspect of it?”

“The way the androids were not really androids, the way it deviated from the book, the way Roy Baty crushed that guy’s face, the way Pris backflips and her crotch lands on Harrison Ford’s face for an uncomfortably long time.”

Lamarque laughed.

Grantaire smirked then continued, “Just the whole thing really.”

“Did you not like the violence of the scene you mentioned?”

“The backflip attack?”

Lamarque laughed again, “No, the face crushing.”

“It seemed unnecessary. It didn’t really serve a purpose, or at least it served a purpose that I didn’t appreciate. He didn’t just kill the guy; he crushed his face. It was cruel and he did it for the pleasure of it. It was to show that he was ruthless and that he lacked empathy, which I understand is a pivotal part of the film, but I didn’t like it.”

“Didn’t like how it reflected on you?”

“I suppose not,” Grantaire looked a bit troubled to be asked.

“What did you think of the book?”

“I preferred it. I mean, I still didn’t like it much. I don’t think I’m supposed to like it. It would be strange if I did. I know I am not like the androids in that, the world is different, but the principle of me being less than human is the same.”

Grantaire went to stop but then appeared to have something he needed to say, “The title of the book, _Do Androids Dream of Electric Sleep?_ is a good title. It sums it up well. The protagonist is human and he has an electric sheep, however, he dreams of having a real sheep. It is a mark of wealth and prestige to have a genuine sheep, an original. It is clearly better and it is a fact universally known. Meanwhile, the androids are running for their lives. They would give anything to be human, to be genuine and original so that they get to live. They don’t even have an electric sheep. It is a demonstration of the hierarchy, and it runs in parallel. The androids dream of being human but the humans already have that, in the same way that the protagonist already has an electric sheep. The androids only dream to have what the humans already have. They are less than human. Androids will only ever be a less valued replica of humanity, like the electric sheep is only a replica of a real one. I suppose that is why I didn’t much care for it. It points out the things I already dislike about my existence. I will never be human and while I am quite happy being as I am in an immediate sense, I will never be equal. I will never deserve as much. I will never be genuine or original. Even if everyone thinks I am human, even if I have everyone fooled, I won’t have myself fooled. I don’t like that; I don’t like having to think too much on it.”

Lamarque, while not visible, must have looked shocked since Grantaire thought to add, “Sorry, Professor, but it’s the truth.” Grantaire gestured to the machine beside him.

Lamarque composed a question, delicately, “How do you feel about the humans that know that you are an android?”

“I quite like _you_ , Professor. I don’t mind you knowing,” Grantaire cheekily smiled.

“What about Enjolras?”

The smile was immediately gone. “I don’t like him knowing.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he tries very hard to treat me as human and it would be easier if I were.”

“Do you like him treating you that way?”

“Yes.” He deliberated, “He does it out of a need he has for equality. I better understand why he initially objected on the grounds of slavery. He thinks that all people should be equal. That they should have equal rights and opportunities. He is studying law. He doesn’t like that I don’t have the same rights as him.”

“That is positive, though?”

“Oh yes. It’s a compliment. It means he thinks I come under the bracket of a ‘person’. It’s positive. It means he cares, not that it stands for much since he cares about everyone and everything but it means at least, I am not just a possession to him. He has started a club at university, a group I should say. He arranges lots of events to raise awareness on issues.”

“What do you think of the group? Do you go?”

“Oh, I go. I wouldn’t miss it but I have my suspicions about its effectiveness. He is an idealist, certainly, but he means to do good so I support him.”

What followed was a debate on socialism that left Enjolras feeling enraged at Grantaire. He knew Grantaire was cynical but it was even worse in this context.

Eventually, Lamarque brings the subject back to his question, “So, why do you dislike Enjolras knowing that you aren’t human?”

Grantaire sighed at having been pinned down, he fidgeted but said, “I am less than he is. He doesn’t think so but I am. I can do a lot of things that he can’t like maths and computing but I am still inferior. He expects a lot of me, seems to think of me as superhuman, and thinks I could change the world.” He corrected, “Maybe not that much, but he thinks I could do more. He is trying to push me. I know he does it because he thinks I am capable. It is horrible having him believe in me and then seeing him disappointed.”

“Do you think you are less than all humans or just him?”

“I think I am less than all humans but especially him.”

Tape 3 – 2.5 years

Enjolras had wanted to make further objections but, thinking of the consequences of not watching, decided to persevere with the third tape. Hearing Grantaire speak about him so openly and honestly was not something that could be endured easily and Enjolras was slumped petulantly in the armchair, armed with a cup of fresh coffee, when the tape began.

As usual it started with some banal chit-chat, followed by another literary debate and then some discussion on their shared class mates and friends at university. It was quite sweet hearing Grantaire speak so affectionately about their mismatched but loveable little group.

This somehow led on to Lamarque asking Grantaire if had had experienced any ‘romantic’ relationships.

“Romantic?” Grantaire scoffed. “Hardly the word for it.”

“Sexual?” It amazed Enjolras that Lamarque wasn’t the slightest bit embarrassed by asking. Enjolras himself had, despite his own awkwardness about the topic, often wondered about Grantaire in this context. Perversely, it wasn’t just for mechanical reasons. He found he wanted, but also didn’t want, to know all the details about Grantaire’s dating history. Grantaire had told him little to nothing about his love life and it was rare for Enjolras to meet any of the girls Grantaire dated. Enjolras didn’t even try to pretend to himself that this curiosity was anything other than fodder for his self-destructive jealousy.

“Yes.” Grantaire didn’t elaborate.

“Was this with any of the people you mentioned?”

Grantaire began to laugh and didn’t stop for some time.

Lamarque said, “I’ll assume that is a no?”

“Yes. It’s a no. I wouldn’t do that,” Grantaire said, with residual mirth.

“Why not?”

“They are my friends.”

“Have you heard of friends with benefits?”

“Lamarque,” Grantaire was more severe. “Why are you asking me that? I have heard of it but these are my friends. I don’t have ‘romantic’ feelings, as you put it, and I wouldn’t potentially ruin a friendship just for sex.”

“Fair point,” Lamarque obliged. “Would you risk a friendship if it could become more than friendship, though? If it became romantic?”

“The word risk is still involved,” Grantaire pointed out. “I can’t have romantic relationships so I don’t see a point.”

“Why can’t you? You’re allowed to.”

“It isn’t about being allowed. I am an android, Lamarque; I can’t have a relationship with a human being.”

“Is it because you don’t want to or because you can’t?”

Grantaire bit his lip and replied, “Well, I know technically I can. It just wouldn’t work. I don’t go through the life processes of a human so the relationship would not have the same aspects. I would have to keep secrets from them and hide what I really am. I don’t eat or sleep which is suspicious. It would be a nightmare. It would be a lie and, in answer to your question, I don’t want that and therefore I don’t want to.” He corrected, as though obligated to ensure his words were true, “Otherwise I suppose I would like to.”

“What if the person knew you were not human?”

Grantaire frowned, “It still wouldn’t work for other reasons. I told you last time, I am less than human. A relationship like that needs to be on an even footing. We wouldn’t be equals.”

“What if they saw you as their equal?”

“They wouldn’t,” Grantaire snipped.

“But what if they did?”

Grantaire let out a long sigh, “ _I_ would still think we weren’t equal.”

Lamarque, sensing he was overstepping, didn’t persist and asked, “Okay. What about in these sexual relationships? Were they purely sexual?”

“It doesn’t really matter so much about being equal. It’s not always just sexual. I like them too. We talk and go places.”

“Like friendship?”

“No, because it always circles back to sex.”

“How do you feel about sex?”

Grantaire shrugged, not-committedly, “It’s okay, I suppose.”

“Just okay?”

“Well, it’s entertaining and interesting. It’s something fun to do.”

“They are not necessarily the words I would use.”

“It’s different for you. You have a wife. It serves as something intimate, something you share together. As I said, I can’t really have intimate in the long term, so sex is just the things I said before.”

“How do you know I have a wife?”

“Because you’re wearing a wedding band and on your desk you have a picture of you and a smiley woman hugging. She’s pretty, by the way.”

“Okay,” Lamarque said slowly. He was presumably contemplating this information being ascertained. “Okay. So, let me see. You don’t think sex is worthwhile without intimacy and you don’t need intimacy yet you choose to have sex regardless.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t need it,” Grantaire answered, with a peculiar expression. “I also didn’t say it wasn’t worthwhile without intimacy. It is just only entertaining without intimacy and nothing more.”

“How do you think it would be with intimacy?”

“Intimate,” Grantaire smirked.

Lamarque released a long suffering sigh.

They moved on to other topics after that.

Lamarque asked Grantaire why he had chosen to study literature and languages.

Grantaire shrugged, “Why not? It’s something to do, right?”

“Well, you could say that about anything.”

“I dunno. Languages are easy, so they don’t take a lot of effort.”

“What about the literature?”

Grantaire pulled a face and answered, “I like it, I guess.”

“What do you like?”

“The stories, and the way they take you to other places. You can be anyone in a book, you know? There are no rules. Writers don’t have to write stuff just because it’s what they should write. They write whatever they want and you can read whatever you want. It doesn’t have any limits and I like that.”

“You like the freedom of it?”

Grantaire chewed his lip, “Yeah.”

“That’s fair enough, Grantaire. Books are an escape from reality for a lot of people-“

“I’m not-” Grantaire went to disagree but was halted. Enjolras suspected it may be the machine that stopped him. He glared at the mechanical box beside him.

Lamarque said, “I don’t mean anything by that. I do the same. It’s very normal.”

“But I’m not normal?” He posed it as a question rather than a statement.

“Sorry. But besides, can we even define normal?”

“Well, yes. Literally.” Grantaire scowled at the desk, “I get your point, though. I don’t have a sense of it. People do a lot of pretending. Pretending to fit in and whatnot, and I don’t know what is really expected in order to appear normal. People discuss this stuff through books and stories rather than face to face because they’re all embarrassed of seeming out of place but if you make a character, you can make your point through them.”

“Do you do a lot of pretending?”

“All the time,” Grantaire said, with derision.

“What do you pretend to be?”

“Well, I would say normal, wouldn’t I, but we’ve sort of dissected that. I guess my definition of normal and human are the same thing. Before you say,” he holds up a hand, “I know you will argue with that but it is a requirement that I fit in and that would suggest I appear human, since that is the norm. It doesn’t matter. As I said before, I want to be human anyway, so I’m happy to pretend.”

“At the detriment of who you really are?”

Grantaire chuckled scornfully, “I don’t think that really matters to anyone.”

“It should matter to you.”

Grantaire stared at the table for a few moments then whispered, “I guess that’s why I like to read.”

It mattered to Enjolras.

The atmosphere on scene remained awkward for a few minutes and Lamarque tried to get the conversation back to a safer territory. Eventually they got back to speaking about Enjolras’ ‘club’ as Grantaire described it. Grantaire explained the demonstration that had ended in a riot.

“So, someone tried to stab Enjolras?”

“Yes.”

“And you stepped in the way?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To protect him from being badly hurt.”

“And you are designed to protect him?”

“Of course.”

“No other reason?”

“I didn’t want to see him badly hurt.”

“Why not?”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow and reiterated, “Well, I didn’t want to see him hurt, did I?”

“I know that. But explain why you let yourself get stabbed in his place?”

“It doesn’t matter if I get stabbed.” Hearing Grantaire say it left a twisting feeling in Enjolras’ stomach.

“But you still chose to take damage when you could have just stopped the man.”

“It was the easiest way to both protect Enjolras and not harm the man.”

“Why does it matter if you harmed the man or not?”

“I am not allowed to harm humans.”

“Would you have wanted to harm him?”

Grantaire appeared to dislike the question, scowling at Lamarque. “Yes,” he gritted out.

“Why?”

“Because he was trying to hurt Enjolras.”

“You are allowed to harm humans in protection of your owner, that is stipulated, and you likely did harm humans during that fight while protecting Enjolras.”

“So?”

“Why didn’t you just hit the man who was trying to stab Enjolras?”

Grantaire exasperatedly said, “I don’t know, Lamarque. It was just what happened. I didn’t want Enjolras to get hurt so I stepped in the way. Then, yes, I probably hurt people while getting him to safety. I didn’t do it because I wanted to hurt anyone.”

“But you wanted to hurt the man who had been deliberately trying to hurt Enjolras?”

The scowl only intensified, and Grantaire answered after a long delay, “Yes. He was trying to stab Enjolras and I didn’t like it.” He went to stop but clearly sensed he would be further prompted so continued, “I don’t like the idea of someone trying to hurt Enjolras. He was only standing there. He wasn’t fighting. He was just looking for his friends. That guy beelined for him with the intent to hurt him. He could’ve killed him. How can anyone try to hurt Enjolras when he is-” Grantaire stopped himself.

“When he is what?”

Grantaire looked down at the table and said, “When he is trying to help people and isn’t hurting anyone. He didn’t deserve it.” Enjolras had a strange feeling that is not what Grantaire had been about to say.

Lamarque didn’t pursue it and soon after the tape came to an end.

The end of tape 3 had resulted in a rather embarrassed Enjolras resorting to picking at a frayed edge of a plush turquoise cushion. He was still vaguely mortified that he had sat through Lamarque asking Grantaire what he thought of sex overall. He had been curious, certainly, about how Grantaire felt about dating but he would have asked things differently. Except he wouldn’t have asked as he was too afraid of the answer. He found it strange and deeply upsetting that Grantaire refused to date people on the grounds that he considered himself of lesser worth. Grantaire was clever, funny and inspired happiness in all those around him; he possessed an abundance of worth.

Annie came in with a selection of very finely made sandwiches and a glass of red wine. Enjolras was not inclined to complain.

Tape 4 – 3.5 years

The tape begun with Grantaire discussing Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and the idea of a man made creature. He commented on how the monster had been spurned from society, seemingly due to its looks alone.

“If the monster had looked like Elizabeth or Clerval then it wouldn’t have been a problem,” Grantaire explained to Lamarque. “It’s all about appearance. Victor only initially feared him because he thought his appearance was unnatural and ugly. He was not in the true image of mankind and was therefore not allowed to live amongst mankind, despite essentially being pretty much human. I’m not at all human but I look human, so I fit in and I’m accepted. It’s all about image and perception. I started out no different from the monster. I was formed suddenly into adulthood with no preconceived ideas about the world. People don’t like to accept things they consider different or unpleasant. Everyone is just shallow. That’s the take-home message.”

“Do you like the way you look?” Lamarque asked, gleaning a line of questioning.

“Lamarque, honestly,” Grantaire joked, a thread of annoyance woven behind it. “I will stop telling you things if you always reward it with these weird questions. But, in answer, no, not particularly. I mean, there is nothing necessarily wrong with the way I look, I have all the parts in the right place yadda yadda but they could have designed anything and,” gesturing at himself, “they came up with this.”

“How would you have liked to look?”

“I don’t know, you can’t ask a question like that and get a definitive answer. It’s not like I’m going to whip out a photograph. Taller, broader, brighter,” Grantaire pondered. “Sharper.”

“Sharper?”

Grantaire shrugged and his left hand gesticulated in helpless circles, “I’m not very sharp.” His voice had inclined into a question as he spoke, his eyebrows raised. Slowly, a smile crept across his face as he struggled to make his point, laughing at himself. The smile was not sharp; it was dimpled and slightly crooked but all soft curves and round edges. It was a beautiful smile. Enjolras didn’t understand why anyone would what to be sharper. Even over the medium of TV, Grantaire managed to warm the small makeshift cinema room.

Enjolras had been distracted by the affection he suddenly felt and the conversation had moved on.

He had noticed, this being the fourth tape, that Lamarque had a habit of asking what Grantaire thought of Enjolras in some way or another. Enjolras assumed this was a procedural thing for safety.

After a brief conversation about how they had both finished their three year degrees, Lamarque asked what they would do next. Enjolras was having to do a year of postgraduate training and Grantaire had decided to start looking into linguistics jobs, both of which Grantaire explained.

Then Lamarque posed the Enjolras question, “So, how are you getting along with Enjolras now?”

“Better,” Grantaire supplied. The answer gave little indication of how well they were getting on or not.

“I’m glad to hear it. Will you continue living together?”

“Yes,” Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well, you will be moving on to different things. Will you look for a job near his course?” As fate would have it Grantaire found a job he could do from home, eventually nullifying the question.

At the time, Grantaire said, “Yes. I’m supposed to stay with him, to look out for him.”

“You are allowed to live separately, though.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to.” The topic had touched a nerve and Lamarque moved in for closer questioning.

“Does Enjolras want to?”

Grantaire’s look was suddenly scathing, “I don’t know but he seems to think that I want to leave.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” he implored. “He keeps telling me that I can leave if I want.”

“And you don’t like that?”

“‘Course not,” Grantaire said, clearly vexed.

“Do you interpret this as his way of asking you to leave?”

“I suppose. He told me he wouldn’t be upset if I left.” Enjolras recalled the night at ‘Chetta’s party and what he had said. He was certain he had said that he wouldn’t be angry, not that he wouldn’t be upset. Something had been lost in translation. “He clearly thinks that I’m a bother and I probably am. I get in the way, I get myself into trouble, I question his beliefs, and I get on his nerves. We argue all the time. I’m not surprised he’s sick of me.”

“I thought you said you were getting along better?” Lamarque sounded puzzled.

“Oh, yeah, we are.”

“So, you used to argue more?”

“No, it’s hard to say. We get along better overall. We have more positive things to say. We interact more and I guess it leads to more of everything.”

“So, you’ve grown to like each other more?”

“Each other? He doesn’t like me at all.”

Lamarque didn’t argue, just asked, “So, you’ve grown to like him?”

Grantaire put his face on the table and mumbled, in a familiar gesture.

“Grantaire?”

He slowly sat up and bit at a fingernail. He muttered, “Yes, I’ve grown to like him.”

“Why don’t you like me asking?”

Grantaire’s eyes were wide with uneasiness, he said slowly, cautiously, “‘Cause I’m embarrassed.”

“For liking Enjolras? But why-” Lamarque’s question is cut off at his realisation. The next question was extremely delayed. Grantaire just sat with his head in his hands. Lamarque finally asked, “When did you realise this?”

He resignedly said, “End of last year.”

Lamarque, in uncharacteristic ruthlessness, said, “I would like you to tell me all about it.”

Grantaire looked helpless, as though he couldn’t believe the subject had come up in conversation and would love for it to end but knew that it wouldn’t. The request was so all-encompassing that to fulfil it would require a significant description of the things he liked about Enjolras. Enjolras sat looking at the screen, mouth agape, an expression of peculiar confusion on his features.

Grantaire began, snappily, “Fine. What’s there to say? You saw him in the waiting room. He looks like an angel. Like he’s the one who was designed. If I could design a person, they would look like him, except no one could think up someone like him deliberately. He’s too beautiful to have been imagined by man. He goes about the world, this world that he thinks is ugly and imperfect, and he’s the most beautiful thing in it. That’s probably why he thinks it’s ugly. He is totally oblivious to it, too busy trying to fix everything. It would be so easy to hate him if he weren’t so fucking good and kind and noble. I mean, what’s there not to like? I don’t know what else there’s to say about it.”

Both on screen and in the cinema room rang with sudden, stunned silence.

“Okay. Thank you, Grantaire. I know these questions are hard but I have a few more.”

Grantaire almost growled, “More? What’s this got to do with anything?”

“It has to do with everything. Now, can I just clarify that by like you mean romantic attraction?” Enjolras, floored by the revelation, can’t seem to comprehend how Lamarque can just come out and ask after such a, frankly unexpectedly, flattering description.

“Yes,” Grantaire ground out.

“You find him physically attractive?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve got eyes, you know.”

“Are you sexually attracted to him?”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Lamarque? I thought you were supposed to assess me psychologically, not drive me over the edge into insanity.” Then, Grantaire glared at the table for a full ten seconds and eventually replied, “Yes.”

“But you wouldn’t pursue a relationship with him?”

Grantaire appeared to be reaching a breaking point but gritted out, “I can’t have a relationship with him. It’s Enjolras. He’s not a person I can have a relationship with. I did try to talk to him once about…something. To clear the air, to see what he would say. It was a stupid idea. It was just me doing things without thinking.”

“What did he say?”

“He started talking to some guy, laughing together, and then asked me if I planned on leaving him.”

“Is Enjolras attracted to men?”

“Yes.”

“Does it bother you that he is a man?”

“No.”

“Have you ever had sex with a man?”

“Yes.”

“How did you find it in comparison?”

“Fine.”

At this point it became quite apparent that Lamarque had pushed Grantaire too far and would only be getting monosyllables from that point onwards. Grantaire looked furiously defensive, eyes blazing, palms pressed hard to the table, braced, like a snake coiled to protect itself. It was clear that Grantaire had trusted Lamarque and the interview had affected that rapport. Lamarque had tried to continue the conversation but eventually it only came across as exploitive, so the interview terminated early.

The room around Enjolras went dark and quiet. He realised that his mouth was yet to close from the shock. The interview had been both astonishingly enlightening and bone-chillingly brutal. It had been like watching a train crash, slowly, while you stood on the platform forced to watch. Enjolras had never seen Grantaire backed into a corner like that. It was scary how Lamarque had done it. It made Enjolras feel self-conscious of cameras in the room where he sat, opening him up and hollowing out his truths. He hadn’t been supposed to see that. It hadn’t been for him. This was something Grantaire hadn’t told him, had tried to tell him once. Enjolras couldn’t believe what Grantaire had been about to tell him, that things could have been so different had that call not come from the kitchen. Grantaire didn’t hate him? Grantaire actually liked him? He had been so sure that Grantaire had wanted to leave.

Enjolras realised how relieved he was. All the stupid hopes he’d had started to bubble to the surface. Then again, this footage was from three years ago. Things could change. He’d had a crush on Enjolras. That didn’t mean all that much, people move on. Enjolras let himself squash the hopes down before they got inevitably crushed.

Annie arrived to Enjolras lying face down on the long leather sofa, seemingly in some form of turmoil. She left the coffee on the end table and silently left.

Tape 5 – 4.5 years

Lamarque apologised to Grantaire at the beginning and tried to explain that he had to ask about Enjolras by law. Enjolras, still reasonably inert, did not pay close attention to this tape until he heard his name in a direct context.

“You know I have to ask you about Enjolras.”

“I know.”

“How are you getting along?”

“Pretty shit.”

Lamarque acted as though it had been a perfectly benign reply. “Why’s that?”

“I’ve been holding him at arm’s length. Basically alienating him.”

“Why? Is that due to what we discussed previously?” Lamarque is treading carefully.

Grantaire took a breath as though bracing himself, released it with a sigh then began, “No, Lamarque. It’s because I don’t know how to act around him anymore. I can’t seem to regulate how I feel. I feel too many things. I found our last interview difficult because I wasn’t even being honest with myself. The machine allowed it because I didn’t really know the truth. Yes, you were probing but I’m not annoyed. I was unprepared. I couldn’t answer as I wanted to and I was embarrassed and wasn’t sure why. The damage is done now. You know. I know. Annie knows,” Grantaire signalled to somewhere off screen. “It doesn’t matter. It would just be easier to tell you without a fight.” He closed his eyes momentarily, and then looked up barefaced, “I love him.” He stopped and stared at the machine, apparently astounded at its lack of intervention, he smiled his beautiful smile. “I love him,” he repeated. Then looked to Lamarque, “Then it’s true, right? Well, thank fuck for that. I’ve been so unsure of what it is supposed to feel like. I didn’t know what to expect of it. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to say it but I’m glad it’s true, or at least true for me. I don’t know what love is to you or if mine is as real but I obviously believe it. That is the important thing, right, the believing. I’m happy with that.”

Lamarque doesn’t sound all that surprise; pleased but not surprised, “I’m glad too, Grantaire. I’m sorry I had to needle you so much to get you there.”

“I guess, that’s okay. I’m just happy to know.”

“What are you going to do?”

The mood palpably dropped.

Grantaire seemed to fold in on himself, the opposite of the person a second earlier, “Nothing.”

“You are going to do nothing?”

“What can I do?” Grantaire asked, helplessly. He seemed to genuinely want the advice.

“Tell him?”

Grantaire let out a laugh, it was a cold, bitter thing, “Professor, you know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s Enjolras,” he said as though it explained everything.

“You tried once before.”

“That was different. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know how I felt then.”

“Why should that change anything?”

“It’s Enjolras. You don’t understand. He wouldn’t want me actually loving him. I belong to him. I am that annoying android he got lumbered with. We fight. He’s always cross at me for being irritating and lazy and unambitious. He says I could be so much more. He doesn’t understand that, to me, it’s like an angel coming down from heaven and telling the demons to be better. It’s fucking absurd. How can I be better next to that? I’m not even on a level with humans let alone angels.”

“Grantaire. He is just human like everyone else.”

Grantaire quivered, “But I’m not.”

Lamarque didn’t have an answer for that. He had cornered himself in the vortex of Grantaire’s reasoning. He had made the same mistake as Enjolras in forgetting that Grantaire wasn’t human. Grantaire never forgot.

He took a different tact, “Surely you alienating him could contribute to the way he behaves towards you.”

“Well, probably. I don’t know what to say. Everything is fine. We’re getting along great, we’re going places, having fun, debating, he’s smiling and laughing, and suddenly I don’t know what to do. I’ve no idea. I don’t know how to enjoy his company without it being like a knife twisting in. Not that I know what that is like, even though I was stabbed that one time.” He lost his track with the digression, but then said, “I just get so angry at myself, at him, at everything. I can’t change it. I can’t make myself different, or better, or more suitable for him. Why bother? I’m always going to be an android. What’s the point of proving myself to be better? He wouldn’t love me either way. It’s like him loving his laptop or his-“

“No it is not,” Lamarque snapped, for the first time in all of the tapes reprimanding Grantaire for his self-deprecation on these grounds.

Grantaire was so surprised he looked almost windswept.

“I will not sit and listen to you say that, Grantaire. You have just proved to me with everything that you have said, in fact, even before today, that you are capable of the scope of feelings seen in any human. The fact you love him is a wonderful thing and you can’t allow your feelings about yourself to change that.”

Grantaire continued to stare, bewildered, at where Lamarque must have been seated. Then he said, “I can’t.”

Exasperated, Lamarque said, “You can’t what?”

“I can’t tell him.”

There is a long silence, at the tail end of which, Lamarque said, “It’s okay, Grantaire. I do understand. I’m sorry for losing my temper.”

Grantaire looked sheepish, “I’m used to people losing their temper with me.”

The tape ended, rather abruptly.

Enjolras, by this point, was near inconsolable. He paced the room, tugging at his curls with more aggression than they deserved. The puzzle, the stupid puzzle that he had been trying to solve for years was all due to this, due to something so simple and easily resolved. He had spent hours contemplating Grantaire’s hatred, his resentment, his lack of creativity and it was all an invention. It had broken his heart to know that he had failed Grantaire and that Grantaire couldn’t come to him for help. He had begrudged Jehan and frowned upon every girl Grantaire had ever dated. He had yelled at Grantaire to talk to him, he had begged, and tried to motivate him with harsh words. He had plotted, schemed and investigated, upturning all the stones but he had been blind. He had implied to Grantaire that he was unfeeling and all the while Grantaire had actually loved him back.

Annie came in to offer snacks and was met by an adult man so despairing and frustrated that he was practically rocking in his seat.

“Enjolras, are you okay?” She asked, with open concern.

“You knew,” is all he said.

She looked about at the room and only then did she seem to acknowledge that the fact they were in the cinema room could be a significant indicator to the meaning behind the remark, “Ohhh. Tape 5?”

Enjolras sat with his head buried in his hands, “Yes.”

“Is it so bad?” She said softly, as she knelt next to him.

He didn’t appear to notice the question. “I didn’t know,” he said pleadingly, for what, neither of them knew.

“He didn’t want you to know.”

His wide, misty eyes peered at her, “But why?”

“Because he was afraid.”

“But it was so much worse this way,” he declared. “If only I had known I could have…” he gestured sweepingly in place of the words he couldn’t form, “…instead of badgering him about stuff.”

“What do you mean?” She was almost as bad as Lamarque.

“We could have talked about it. About us.” Before she could speak, he continued, “He wouldn’t talk to me. He ignored me for days. I thought he hated me and we argued all the time. I tried to fix it or kept my distance to give him space. All along I had only been making it worse and upsetting him more. I never meant to upset him.” Enjolras felt the need to justify himself to her, as though perhaps that would justify him to himself.

Enjolras was very off balance. This had been the last thing he had expected from the tape and it had shaken his whole view of Grantaire. Every conversation suddenly had a totally different perspective and emphasis. Enjolras had genuinely believed that Grantaire disliked him, that he wanted nothing more than to leave and only stayed out of duty. Enjolras had spent years trying desperately to win Grantaire’s affection. Frankly he would have settled for mere approval but now he had Grantaire’s actual love. It was more than he’d ever dared to hope for.

Annie was speaking, “Enjolras? Do you want another glass of wine?”

Enjolras let out a croaky laugh and nodded.

While she was gone Enjolras crawled back into his armchair.

On her return she said, “Enjolras. I am sorry but you know that-.”

He held up a weary hand, “I know. Just play it.

Tape 6 – 5.5 years

Enjolras had been interested to see what was said on the tape but he caught very little of it. There was more of the same literary discussions and general dialogue. It all washed over him. He had been hoping, and dreading, to hear if Grantaire had changed his mind about him, convinced that the hatred would eventually come. It didn’t.

Lamarque asked, “I will make this brief as I know it is not the easiest thing to discuss. Has anything changed between Enjolras and you?”

“No,” Grantaire murmured.

“Do you still feel the same?”

“Yes,” Grantaire teased fingers through his unruly fringe.

“Okay. I will say no more.”

That was it before they resumed their usual chit-chat and more easy rapport.

They discussed Grantaire’s endless stream of ever-changing hobbies and Grantaire explained how it was ‘something to do’ but Lamarque inevitably teased the truth out of Grantaire, which was that it stemmed from a need to be stimulated but also a belief that putting a considerable effort into one thing was futile. Grantaire didn’t attribute any personal achievements to who he was but what he was and therefore considered a weighty personal investment to be a waste of time and effort.

Enjolras would have usually been enraptured but instead he fretted for the remaining 35 minutes of the tape, his wine long gone.

Tape 7 – 6.5 years 

When the final tape started over 6 hours after the first had begun, Enjolras was distinctly aware that it was getting to present day. This tape had been filmed barely 2 months earlier and the recency left Enjolras jittery all over again.

Throughout the initial chatter Grantaire was responsive but distracted. However, before Lamarque could inevitably ask, he said, “Can I ask you something?”

Lamarque seemed startled, “Yes, of course.”

“A few days ago, Enjolras bought me an apartment. It’s in the building next door, literally the other side of the wall. I didn’t ask for it, although it was unoccupied and I suggested we use it for parties or whatever in the meantime before it sells. Then he went and bought it using money borrowed from his parents, something he’s refused to do since he was 18 because he wanted to find his own way in the world.  I don’t know what to think of it. I told him I didn’t want it but he insisted and, as usual, we argued. I thought it might be him wanting me to move out but he said it wasn’t. He said I could just use it for parties or my stuff and I don’t understand why. Do you think I should just accept it? I don’t see how I can.”

Lamarque was quiet for a long time then finally said, “He obviously thought it was important enough that you have it regardless of what he had to do to get it. I suggest you keep it otherwise I don’t doubt that you will have more arguments.”

“But why? I feel so uncomfortable about it. It’s a big apartment; it must have cost a lot.”

“He can’t go back on borrowing the money, even if he gives it back he will have still done it, so either way he has already made the sacrifice for you to have it.”

“Do you think I should try and pay him back for it? It’ll take a while but-“

Lamarque gently cut in, “I doubt it is about the money.”

“Then what? I was only suggesting it as a bit of fun.”

“Well, maybe he thought you needed a bit of fun.”

Grantaire was deathly quiet, picking at his fingernails.

Lamarque hedged, sensing the origin of the silence, “Grantaire? How are things going with you two?”

Grantaire shook his head, “The worst they’ve ever been.”

“Arguments?”

“Endlessly. I know it’s my fault. I bait him and alienate him, still. I just, he, I don’t know, he knows something is wrong. I can see the way he looks at me like he is trying to suss it out. He wants to know why I act the way I do and I can’t tell him. I can’t turn around to ‘Grantaire, what’s wrong with you?’ and reply ‘Well, I’m in love with you.’ So, I just try to avoid it.”

“Do you avoid him?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why?”

“To protect myself,” Grantaire sorrowed.

“From what?”

“From him. From the way he makes me feel like I am overheating. From the intensity of him looking at me for answers. You don’t know what he’s like. Once he gets his teeth into something, he’s like a blood hound. He won’t stop until an answer satisfies him. Obviously I can’t tell him but he still wants to fix it.”

“He keeps trying to fix it?”

“Yeah. He even asked the engineers if there was something wrong with me. I was really angry with him about that, that is, until I started to think maybe there was, with all the overheating and sudden strange shivery sensation. I thought my themoregulators might be playing up.”

“Shivery sensation?”

Grantaire gave a non-committal wave of ignorance.

“Have you considered that he bought you the apartment as a way of trying to fix it?”

Grantaire bite his lip, eyes cast off to the side. “No.”

“It could be plausible.”

“Yes,” Grantaire acknowledged. “But why would he think that would fix it, whatever he thinks it is?”

“Think of how he must interpret all the arguing and hostility.”

Grantaire let his face fall onto the table by way of response. Lamarque allowed him to remain this way. Eventually Grantaire sat up and said, “We go out for the day every week now, as of a few weeks ago. He said he wanted to see the galleries but I know he doesn’t understand art.” It was seemingly off topic but Lamarque seemed to understand.

“So, he obviously has a theory on how to fix it.”

“I guess but I don’t understand the theory at all.”

“Does it matter? He is trying. Don’t you think you should do the same?”

Grantaire frowned but said, “I suppose but I don’t know how. You think I should accept the apartment then?”

Lamarque replied that he did.

There was a minor switching of topic and a discussion on a certain sci-fi book.

Grantaire said, “I walked into the kitchen the other week and they were all talking about androids.”

“They being?”

“Enjolras, Courf’ and ‘Ferre.”

“What were they saying?”

“Just talking about films, and the difference between cyborgs and androids. Nothing too extreme. It was just weird because when I asked how they got onto the topic, it had been Enjolras who’d brought it up.”

“Why is that weird?”

“Why would he ask them about androids?”

“He wanted their take on it?”

“I know that, but why? Why would he even care?”

“Care about what?”

“About what they think.”

“Because they are his friends and he has no one else to discuss it with apart from you.”

“He can ask me then. I’ll know more than they do,” Grantaire seemed put out.

“You’ve been alienating him, as you say.”

Grantaire sighed and said with finality, “Fine. Whatever. I just thought it was strange that he’d be so interested.”

After this Grantaire appeared to direct the conversation to more amenable topics and the interview ended soon after.

Enjolras was still in a state of bewilderment. The initial shock had subdued but at the realisation that Grantaire’s opinion had not drastically changed as of 2 months ago, Enjolras addressed the fact that this was very much a thing of the present.

It was such a relief to learn that someone he cared so much about actually didn’t hate him and resent his presence in their life. He began to formulate what it was he had to say to Grantaire. Obviously this could not be left. He felt foolish, oblivious and ignorant but now he had the truth he could finally discuss everything he felt with Grantaire.

Annie came in and watched as Enjolras paced the room.

“Do you need anything?” She asked.

“No, just a ride back home, if that would be okay?”

“Yes, of course. You don’t need a word with Lamarque?”

“Do I need to sign some things?” Enjolras hurried into his jacket, unable to contain his anticipation to get home.

“No. I just thought you might have some questions about Grantaire?”

He started, “What questions? Am I not allowed to speak to Grantaire about this?”

“No, no. It’s fine. Sorry I asked.”

Enjolras frowned at the omission but allowed, “Perhaps I should thank him.”

He went to Lamarque’s office and thanked the professor. Enjolras did not allude to anything he had seen, seemingly much to the professor’s disappointment. Enjolras didn’t want to lose his nerve with conversation; however in the car he did lose some momentum while reading his messages. It was well past 6 by then and he had amassed a number of messages throughout the day, many of which were from Courfeyrac.

11.27: Are you there? Are you okay? :) Can you talk?

14.35: I guess not :((((

14.37: Call me when you escape.

16.53: Seriously, are you okay? :O

17.15: Who do I even call about this? The police????

Enjolras called Courfeyrac and reassured him immediately. The chat lasted several minutes of painfully lying through his teeth before Enjolras made out that he had to hang up, assuring he would pop over later.

 Other messages included:

Combeferre, 14.48: Courf says you are at the police station. I hope it is okay he told me. I assume you are busy but let me know how it’s going when you can.

Bahoral, 16.34: Yo, Enjolras. I am in town for a couple weeks for xmas. When you get out of the clink let’s meet. Tonight? I hope you did something badass.

Combeferre, 17.20: Courf is having kittens. Are you okay? Do you need me to come pick you up?

Marius, 18.06: Hello Enjolras. Sorry to hear you are at the police station. I arrived back with Bahorel and Cosette (who I can’t wait for you to finally meet) this afternoon. Hopefully we can see you later?

Enjolras had forgotten that the first wave of friends would be arriving back that day. It left him excited but it was overshadowed by how important it was that he spoke to Grantaire as soon as possible. However, there were several messages from Grantaire that put a dampener on this.

15.59: Courf told me you have finally been put away for good. Did the law finally catch up with the great Enjolras?

16.01: Don’t be an activist, they said, don’t rock the boat, they said, but did he listen? Fuck no, he had a valiant mission to fulfil. Nothing could hold that man back from justice.

16.04: Now all hopes of a brighter world are lost.

Usually Enjolras would have taken it as a sarcastic joke but in the context of today it was rather bittersweet, made even more so by how Grantaire had felt the need to explain this.

16.46: I was joking Enjolras.

16.47: I hope you’re okay. When will you be back?

17.01: Marius and Bahorel are back. I saw them this afternoon. Cosette seems nice. I might go over there for drinks/take away aka drinks later. Let me know if you want to join.

17.31: Can you call? Do you get one phone call?

As Enjolras read the final message another arrived.

18.28: Courf said you called. I’m going out.

There was a reason, surely, for the coldness. Enjolras redirected the car to Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s, hoping that is what Grantaire had meant by out.

***

At gone 7, Enjolras burst into their apartment breathless and slightly sweaty, despite the temperature outside.

“Where is he?” He exclaimed in gasping urgency.

“I’m here,” Bahorel jibed and bounced out of his chair with uncharacteristic flamboyance before waltzing over and enveloping Enjolras into a rather clammy hug. Enjolras returned it but his eyes darted about over Bahorel’s shoulder for his actual target. Grantaire wasn’t visible in the cosy kitchen.

“Thank you, Bahorel,” he said politely pulling away. “It’s very good to see you but-“

“Enjolras!” Marius called from around the crowded kitchen table. “It’s so good to see you.” He got up and approached, holding the hand of a pretty blonde. “This is Cosette.”

“Hello, Cosette. It’s lovely to finally meet you but-“

“What happened at the police station?” Courfeyrac cut in. “I’ve been worried, you know.” He bustled over, past Cosette, who didn’t seem at all phased.

“Not a lot, I had to-“

“Not a lot? You were there the whole day.”

“Look, will you just listen to me,” Enjolras finally snapped. Everyone fell silent, no one was surprised, not even Cosette. “It is lovely to see you all but where is Grantaire?”

A look was shared. It was a familiar look, weighty and knowing. Even Cosette seemed privy to its meaning and, peculiarly, for the first time Enjolras himself was also in the know.

Before anyone could speak he said, “You all knew?”

“Knew what?” Courfeyrac asked, rather artfully.

“How he felt about me.” He felt a strange tangling in his chest, like he had been deliberately deceived or dubbed.

A look was shared but this time it was entirely unfamiliar and quite unsettling.

“You did all know,” he whispered. “And none of you told me.”

He felt his even temper come under threat, like gunpowder close to a lit match. Even Cosette had known, meaning that it was such common knowledge that it was discussed with those being initiated into the group, yet no one had said a word.

Combeferre must have noticed the storm bubbling under the surface and said, “Enjolras, would you like to come through and sit down?”

Enjolras acquiesced and rigidly left the kitchen, allowing himself to be seated in Combeferre’s cramped office, between an actual writing desk and a bookcase that was significantly broken by the weight of the books it bore. Enjolras was distantly aware of Courfeyrac’s objections at being excluded from the conversation and Combeferre’s firm resolve. Combeferre shut the door on the others and sat on his office chair, handing Enjolras a glass of water.

Combeferre was not the type to ask. He was the type to wait for you to come to him, like you were a woodland creature. Enjolras sipped the water. Combeferre organised his desk space.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Enjolras finally asked into the silence.

Startlingly fast, Combeferre replied, “It wasn’t for us to tell.”

Enjolras scowled at the glass, “But why didn’t he tell me? Why could he tell everyone else?”

“He didn’t tell us initially. For the most part we figured it out. He didn’t tell you because you were the person he had the feelings for.”

“But it would have been okay. More than. I am really, really pleased to know,” it felt strangely okay to say it aloud.

“ _We_ know that. He doesn’t.”

“Why didn’t one of you tell him?”

“Again, it wasn’t for us to tell him. Plus, why didn’t you tell us?”

Enjolras wilfully dodged the question, resuming his own agenda. “We have been dancing around it for years though. It just prolonged it.”

Combeferre laughed, “We know, but isn’t it better you figured it out for yourselves?”

“No,” Enjolras said, frankly. “Besides, I found out because I overheard something I shouldn’t have. I didn’t figure it out by myself.”

“Oh. Right,” said Combeferre, taken aback. He cogitated for a time before asking, “What are you going to do?”

“Speak to him of course,” he said, irreverently. “I thought he was here.”

“He left just before 5. Courf’ text him that you were okay.”

“Okay, thanks.” It was successfully neutral, hiding the bitterness of the trouble that text appeared to have caused.

Following this conversation was Enjolras’ hasty retreat from the apartment to return home. Everyone was very understanding and, inwardly, relieved for him.

***

It felt strange to enter the apartment that they shared together. It held many happy memories but also, sadly, a lot of ones that were warped by a now greater understanding. A lot of things had been a lie on both of their parts and Enjolras couldn’t wait to put an end to it.

Grantaire wasn’t home to Enjolras’ infinite disappointment.

Enjolras made himself a tea and thought about what he would say. This eventually resulted in a degree of conversational fantasising and mental roleplay. Initially Grantaire would be cross about how Enjolras had seen the tapes, perhaps embarrassed, and they would bicker but Enjolras would then successfully reassure Grantaire by revealing his own feelings. Given the content of the tapes, Grantaire would be surprised that his feelings were reciprocated but ultimately he would be happy and relieved. Enjolras batted the fictional conversation back and forth in his head, preparing for various avenues of dialogue and trying to think of how to ensure the direction was preferable. He wanted to do this right. Grantaire could be volatile and Enjolras prepared himself for arguing, denial or, painfully, a confession that Grantaire no longer cared. He considered how he ought to approach this but he didn’t dwell, since every time he thought about the moment of them both feeling reciprocated, his chest swelled with excitement. He couldn’t believe that this was about to happen and how perfect it would be. There would be no more arguing or misunderstandings or secrets. He wouldn’t have to see Grantaire sad or angry; instead it would all be full of friendly debates, mischief and Grantaire’s laughter.

The evening began to drag out.

It was 9pm by the time Enjolras had finished washing up and daydreaming. It was early, too early to expect Grantaire home. Enjolras checked his phone to realise he had not replied to any of Grantaire’s messages. His stomach dropped in guilt and concern. He hurriedly typed out a response.

21.04: Hey sorry for the late reply. Went to Courf’s looking for you. Everything is okay. I will explain when I see you.

Enjolras considered the message then also sent.

21.06: I don’t know where you are but I was hoping to speak with you as soon as possible. Like I said everything is okay but it is very important. Let me know when you might be back.

Again, Enjolras frowned at the message and further added; this time smiling.

21.07: And for your information I was not arrested for activism! This is nothing to do with that. But if it were the case, I would name you my successor in creating said brighter world.

Still dissatisfied but somewhat more content than before, Enjolras spent the best part of an hour fretfully organising his office space and adamantly not checking his phone. Eventually he caved, only to find a text from Courfeyrac asking how it had gone. There had been nothing from Grantaire and even though it was a perfect example of the shoe being on the other foot, he was still somewhat annoyed. Had he not stressed the importance of this? He agitatedly worried that Grantaire had not found his attempt of a joke funny. Cracking jokes wasn’t really his forte. He reread the messages and wondered what he had done wrong now. It was probably his late reply. He could hardly expect Grantaire to come running at the drop of a hat when he himself had been so negligent.

He, stooping though it was, called Grantaire’s phone in the hopes of seeing if he was okay. He had the ulterior motive of also trying to coerce him home so they could talk. It went straight to voicemail. The phone was switched off.

He dejectedly resorted to trolling through Netflix for possible distractions.

***

 Enjolras was abruptly woken by the sound of footsteps and laughter in the hall outside. He peered around groggy and surprised that he had drifted off, the television on standby. He heard Grantaire’s voice and for the briefest of moments was elated, only to acknowledge that Grantaire was clearly not alone. A cold wave of panicked embarrassment washed through him since he had clearly been waiting up but before he could rouse himself into the appearance of nonchalance, the door was swinging open. Through it emerged a merry looking Grantaire and a laughing brunette with a silvery blue dress and a pair of heels in her left hand. She was hanging off of Grantaire’s left side for support, her tanned arm draped around him for more than just balance.

Enjolras didn’t need to ask.

He felt immediately nauseated and had a bizarre rushing in his chest and head. He seemed to have developed a form of tinnitus instantaneously. Still bleary with sleep and now encumbered with strange new ailments, he was unsteady in righting himself off of the sofa. However, it had to be done because he had to leave.

Externally he likely appeared just startled and tired since Grantaire didn’t seem to notice his distress.

“Hey, Enjolras.” He then turned to his companion and said, “This is my roommate I told you about.”

“Hi,” the girl said with polite disinterest.         

“This is Marie,” Grantaire told Enjolras, oblivious to the severity with which Enjolras did not care.

When Enjolras didn’t say anything to either of them, just stood next to the coffee table looking shaky and glazed, Grantaire added more diplomatically, “Sorry. I didn’t realise you would be up. Thought you would be tired after today.”

“I have to go out,” Enjolras abruptly exclaimed, lurching towards the coat rack forcing both the new arrivals to step away towards the kitchen. Marie seemed vaguely bemused but Grantaire was suddenly worried.

“Enjolras? What happened?” When no reply came he said, “Were you waiting for me to get back?”

“Something like that.” Enjolras said and fled the apartment, coat in hand.

***

 Enjolras would have liked to have stopped to put on the coat but he needed to be as far away as possible in as short a space of time as possible. He marched in singular pursuit of escape, his determination allowing him to think of nothing else. Finally he stopped after about 10 minutes in an only vaguely familiar area of town and jerkily put on the coat with icy fingers. He had had to run. He couldn’t face being there. The defence mechanism had been immediate and unyielding. Why had it happened tonight? Of all the possible nights for Grantaire to bring someone home, it had to be tonight. Of course it did. Grantaire had brought people home before and on reflection Enjolras realised he hadn’t much liked it then either but this time felt like being kicked. Enjolras felt it with a deep foreboding, like it was a cosmic sign.

Enjolras stood in the street and agonised full circle about the ‘Why?’ of Grantaire’s actions until someone not so subtly opened their front door and glared at him to move along. Enjolras scuffed to the end of the street, which he now realised was residential and yes, on a Thursday at midnight it could be seen as creepy to stand there. Thankfully, there was a pub open along the next street and like a grateful moth to an open flame he was beckoned over the threshold. Enjolras was not a big drinker but he found himself at the bar asking about closing times and what was on tap. He had an hour of refuge, so bought a pint of something that poured darker than he had anticipated and holed up in a corner on a bench that looked suspiciously like a church pew. He tried to ignore any potential symbolism as he near inhaled the brown liquid and began to brood.

By the end of the pint Enjolras had drawn the conclusion that Grantaire obviously didn’t feel the same way as before. He seemed obstinately oblivious to the fact that Grantaire’s behaviour was not unusual or different from previously. Nothing had changed except him. Yet still he ordered another pint like it was a necessary part of the sulking ritual and continued to reflect on all the ways Grantaire had made it clear through actions that he disliked Enjolras.

By 12.45 Enjolras was beginning to fuss about the inevitable return to the apartment. He hadn’t really drunk all that much in the scheme of things but being a lightweight and full of adrenaline had caused a spike in ‘drunkness’.

Then a patron tried to enter the pub. The landlord objected, informing them that they were closing and had already called last orders but the patron convinced them otherwise and appeared at the bar.

It was Grantaire.

Naturally, Enjolras was mortified. He was in no state to deal with the imminent confrontation, his feelings too raw and his blood alcohol levels too high.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire said as he approached the table, brows knit with concern. “What on earth are you doing in here?”

“Drinking,” Enjolras said sulkily.

“I can see that,” Grantaire replied, taking the seat opposite uninvited. “I got your messages.”

“Fine.”

There was a palpable silence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t reply. My phone was off. I got them when I got in.”

“That’s okay,” Enjolras said with the distinct air that it wasn’t.

Grantaire leant in, “Enjolras, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied.

“You’re drinking in a pub alone on a Thursday night. Plus, you’re drinking ale, which I know for a fact you hate.”

“So?”

Grantaire didn’t answer, he just chewed his lip and appeared to consider. “What have I done?” He finally asked.

“Nothing,” Enjolras couldn’t say some of it without saying all of it and he certainly couldn’t say all of it in this state. Therefore it was better to evade.

“What did you want to talk to me about though? You said it’s important.”

“It was.”

“You said it wasn’t bad but now I think it might be,” he gestured to their surroundings and the drunken Enjolras.

Enjolras stared, cut by the words, too past rationality to recognise how this looked from Grantaire’s perspective and how Grantaire had no way of knowing how his words were misconstrued. He took a swig of the beer, now lukewarm, and made no reply.

Grantaire’s vibrant blue eyes didn’t leave Enjolras’ face, watchfully concerned.

“Did something happen at the police station?” Grantaire guessed.

“I wasn’t at the police station,” Enjolras confessed and before he could stop himself added, “I was at GenTech.” It was out there and there was no way of stopping the impending explosion now. The freight train had left the station and there were no brakes to speak of.

Grantaire’s expression crumpled, “What? Why?”

Enjolras just sipped the drink and scowled, mostly at himself for letting it slip.

Grantaire took this to mean something else entirely. “Enjolras?” he whispered. “Please. What have I done?”

Enjolras didn’t have a concise answer but even if he had, Grantaire had already resumed speaking.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, Enjolras. I can be better, I promise. I will be. I won’t bother you at all. I’ll move next door if you like. What can I do?” Enjolras noticed how Grantaire’s hands were shaking. “Is it too late?”

Through the hazy cloud in Enjolras’ head the meaning of this was all unclear. “What are you even talking about?”

Grantaire blinked thickly at him, “Um, you seeing GenTech.”

Enjolras unsteadily waved a hand at him, and slightly listed towards the table as he did so, “I shouldn’t have told you.”

Grantaire looked like he was about to cry and shakily said, “Just tell me why?”

Enjolras frowned, “Well, they called me.”     

This seemed to both surprise and mildly calm Grantaire, “They called _you_?”

“Well, yes, of course,” Enjolras mumbled, pushing aside the now too warm beer.

“You didn’t go to them about me?”

“Well, of course it was about you, it wasn’t about ‘Ferre or Joly or whoever, was it?” Enjolras chuckled slightly at his own retort, too tipsy to be fully serious.

Grantaire fiddled with the string of his hoodie and then repeated, “But they called you?”

“Yes,” Enjolras exasperated. “We established that.”

“But why?”

Enjolras laughed, “You and your ‘but whys’.” Apparently also too tipsy to politely ignore it. “They wanted to see me if you must know.”

Grantaire stared and said, “I wouldn’t have to ask if you just bloody told me. Please just tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t.”

“Did you have to sign something?”

“Yes but that’s not why.”

“Then why?”

Enjolras sighed, “Because I’ve had a drink.”

“And why’s that?”

“Well, alcohol is a-“

“No, I mean why you’re here?” He deflated, “Okay, fine. Let’s get you home and we can talk there.” Grantaire appeared a little more attuned to the hovering landlord.

Enjolras made to object, needing to stress that he would make no such promises to talk but seemed to get whisked up, swaying a little.

Grantaire asked the landlord, “How many has he had?”

The landlord seemed baffled, “Two pints.”

Grantaire snorted and turned to Enjolras, “You’re drunk on two pints?”

Enjolras huffed, “Firstly, I’m hardly even drunk. Secondly, it’s ale, Grantaire. I’m not used to it.”

Grantaire laughed despite himself, “It’s hardly Absinthe or Everclear, you know.”

On that note, they bundled out the door into the December cold.

As they started to walk, Grantaire wrapped an arm around Enjolras to support him but it reminded Enjolras of Marie earlier so he pushed Grantaire away.

“Is she still there?” He muttered.

“Who?”

“That girl?”

“Oh,” Grantaire grasped and then seemed self-conscious. “No, she, err, she left earlier.”

“Fine.”

At the corner Enjolras stopped and noticed that his phone wasn’t in his pocket. He began to pat himself down, foraging in the deep pockets of the red coat.

“Your phone? It’s at home on the coffee table,” Grantaire supplied patiently.

“Oh, right,” Enjolras said, then considered. “How did you find me?”

“I looked for you. Why would the phone make a difference?”

“To track me.”

“Are you serious? You think I track you?” Grantaire laughed humourlessly.

“You can though, right?”       

Grantaire grimaced, “Well, yeah, but I wouldn’t do it.”

They continued walking in silence.

Back at home, after minimal conversation and boiling the kettle for tea, Enjolras settled on the sofa to check his phone. Grantaire seemed to have resigned himself to waiting for Enjolras until he was finished, instead making the tea and checking the fridge.

Grantaire, 11.56:  Sorry I missed your messages earlier just turned on my phone. Where are you going?

Grantaire, 12.01: Do you need to talk urgently?

Grantaire, 12.04: Marie’s gone home. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have brought her if I’d read your messages.

Courfeyrac, 12.17: Hey Enjolras. Grantaire says you’ve walked out. He came looking for you. We are worried and so is he. Did you talk? He didn’t seem to know much about anything. I can cover you at work tomorrow if you need the day. Text me xxx

Enjolras is touched that even for such a short time people were concerned. It felt like he had been getting concerned messages all day. Enjolras sent Courfeyrac a quick but grateful reply.

Grantaire placed a tea and some toast in front of Enjolras and gingerly sat in the adjacent armchair, expression patient but anxious. Enjolras was surprised by just how patient he was being considering how shaken he had been at the mention of GenTech. Enjolras ate without protest and felt noticeably better. In reality, it had just been the lack of a proper dinner and the nerves more than anything. He knew he would have to give some explanation to the worrying Grantaire but he didn’t know he could do this properly with his head still a little foggy. He considered a white lie until tomorrow or maybe next week but he knew if any substantial time was allowed to pass he would lose his bottle and fall into complacent longing.

“Okay.” Enjolras poised his explanation, “GenTech called yesterday morning and said I needed to go there urgently and not to speak to you before I got there. Obviously, I was concerned by this but went right away.” Enjolras observed a deeply troubled look to Grantaire’s features but continued, “I got there and it was Lamarque who wanted to see me-”

“Lamarque?” Grantaire looked startled. It was understandable since Lamarque did not possess a legal or leadership role within the company itself.

“Yes Lamarque,” Enjolras obliged. “Let me finish, okay? Anyway, so he said something had happened and someone had somehow been killed by their android. GenTech is investigating it but also trying to avoid it happening again.” Grantaire went to speak but Enjolras shot him a sharp look. “Lamarque told me that the guy hadn’t seen it coming and that had he watched the interview footage the context would have likely warned him. Anyway,” Enjolras faltered, aware of the impact his next words could have, “They have decided that by law people have to watch the footage or their androids will be taken away.” Grantaire paled. “So, as you know watching them is something that I didn’t want to do and I promised I wouldn’t do but obviously I can’t allow them to take you away.”

“When?” Grantaire blurted, eyes suddenly wild.

“When?” Enjolras asked.

“When do you have to watch them by?”

Enjolras braced himself and said, “They couldn’t allow the androids to find out the tapes had to be watched until afterwards.”

Something, and Enjolras couldn’t say quite what, snapped in Grantaire’s expression as the truth dawned on him. It was as though for several short seconds he was totally paused, lips parted in surprise. Then on realising the depths of what Enjolras had seen, and therefore knew, he tried to get up.

Enjolras jumped forward and grabbed his arm, saying quickly, “Don’t go. Please wait one second.”

Grantaire looked very much as though he would like to prize Enjolras off but Enjolras’ grip was tight and, as usual, his expression was determined. Grantaire closed his eyes but remained seated. Enjolras was relieved that he would get the chance to say his piece but before he could Grantaire murmured, “I’m sorry. Please don’t be cross at me.”

Enjolras was astonished and said, “Cross? About what?”

Grantaire opened his eyes and looked strangely hopeful, “You didn’t watch it?”

Enjolras frowned, “No, I did watch it but why would I be cross?” He hoped that approaching it from this direction would help.

Grantaire closed his eyes again and whimpered something inaudible.

Enjolras mustered himself, “You think I’m cross? Why would I be cross with you? I suppose I could be cross about spending 7 or so hours watching interviews in a dark, converted office but I’m not cross at all about that or anything else. I thought you would be cross for me agreeing to watch them and I made Lamarque promise me he would tell you how strongly I objected. I couldn’t not watch it though, Grantaire, and then lose you. You know I had to do it. You understand?” He paused meaningfully, “I’m not cross. I’m quite the opposite. I’m relieved, and glad, and happy. I thought you hated me this whole time and that was why you were pushing me away, to get rid of me. I thought you resented me and that I was just a prison to you-”

“Stop it!” Grantaire interrupted, “Just stop it.” He looked down at Enjolras’ fingers gripping his forearm but made no attempt to explain himself.

“Why?”

Grantaire didn’t move, not even fractionally.

“Why should I stop, Grantaire? So we can spend another God knows how many years pretending we don’t care about each other?”

Grantaire looked up, his eyes hazy, and said, “You’ve had a long day and you’ve been drinking. You,” he paused and amended. “Now is really not a good time.”

“I know it isn’t but when is? You weren’t going to say anything-”

“How the hell could I say anything? Say what?” Grantaire pleaded.

“That you love me.”

Grantaire flinched at the bluntness and looked down again in embarrassment.

Enjolras tried to meet his eyes, “Why are you being like this? I thought you would be happy.”

“Happy? I’ve been trying to stop you finding out,” Grantaire then did, admittedly rather gently, slip his arm away from a now offended Enjolras. It was apparent that Grantaire had only stayed seated in Enjolras’ grip because he hadn’t wanted to hurt Enjolras by pulling his arm away.

“But why?”

Grantaire sighed, perhaps at the irony, and succeeded in getting up, retreating towards his room. Enjolras followed, intercepting him at the doorway, tripping a little on his own feet but recovering.

“Are you seriously going to run away from me?”

Grantaire just looked at him helplessly.

“Fine. Be a coward, run away from me while I try and get to the bottom of our misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” Grantaire repeated touchily.

“About how we argue to dodge the truth and we’re just lying to ourselves.”

Grantaire mumbled, “Enjolras. I don’t want to talk about this now.”

“Well, I think we should,” Enjolras said in stubborn indignation. “You won’t even let me finish. Even now you are butting in and trying to dodge what I am telling you. Grantaire, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m sorry I watched the tapes but I couldn’t lose you and I was so happy to realise that we both felt the same way that I’ve waited here all night to talk to you and yes I’ve had a couple of drinks now but I’m actually totally fine and you brought that girl home so what can you even say to me and now you are pushing me away again.” He spoke quickly to get all the words out before Grantaire stopped him but now his voice began to quiver, “Why do you always do this? You said yourself on the tape you do it. I thought you hated me. I’ve tried to make it right. I feel like no matter what I do, you push me further away.”

Grantaire wearily covered part of his face with a hand and said, “Enjolras. You don’t mean any of that.”

Enjolras stepped closer, trapping Grantaire at the doorframe. “Of course I mean it. I mean all of it.”

Grantaire shook his head defeatedly.

“Why don’t you believe me?” Enjolras stepped even closer still, and he could see Grantaire’s long eyelashes cast shadows in the low light.

“Because,” Grantaire said with finality.

Enjolras considered then gently said, “You said that you didn’t think I would want you actually loving me. Is that why you don’t believe me? Do you honestly think I would lie to you?”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire breathed. “We can’t do this. Just, just stop. It’ll hurt us both.”

“Why? How will we get hurt now?”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire suddenly snapped. “Leave it alone. We can’t do this. You’re being unreasonable.” He tried to enter his room but Enjolras caught him in a semi-deliberate stumble. The whole conversation felt dreamlike and not due to alcohol. By now Enjolras was notably sober, yet this was nothing like his planned scenarios at all. Grantaire was supposed to be pleased but perhaps that was too self-assured.

Doubts aside, he couldn’t let it drop, “Why can’t we do this?”

Grantaire made no response, shaky with a combination of emotions.

“I don’t care that we aren’t the same, Grantaire. Is that the issue? You must know by now that that doesn’t matter to me. We’re all people-”

Grantaire grit out, “It’s easy for you to say.”

Enjolras grimaced in confusion. He supposed he might have been too direct but otherwise he was unsure of his present failing. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you’re you, Enjolras. Just think about it,” Grantaire still didn’t meet Enjolras’ gaze.

Enjolras’ didn’t have the patience to think about it and play the game. It seemed counterproductive. He sighed and said, “Grantaire, I’m not doing that. That is incidental to me. I’m not too drunk and I’m not joking. I’m sorry. I’m sorry but I didn’t know before. Had I known, we would have had this conversation a long time ago. Whatever perception you have has nothing to do with how I feel. I want to do this, I want to do this with you and the only thing that will hurt me is you telling me we can’t because you don’t believe I feel the way I do or some cryptic bullshit about how we are too different. Say no, push me away some more, do whatever but that won’t change anything, just prolong it.”

Grantaire peered sheepishly from under his lashes, his teeth teasing his bottom lip as was his habit when apprehensive. Enjolras watched the movement with an entranced intensity. What he hadn’t accounted for was how, without conscious instruction, his lips followed his eyes. It was a careful kiss, cautious and gentle, really just a soft pressing of lips. It didn’t remain so. The kiss seemed to be the catalyst that pushed Grantaire out of indecision. He pushed forward to meet Enjolras, seeking his mouth and winding his fingers into the blond curls. Grantaire softly pulled at the strands in persistent pleading for more, more of whatever he seemed to feel he lacked, more of Enjolras’ mouth, hair, lips, skin, words, affection. Enjolras, stunned but elated, allowed himself to be pulled into Grantaire and swept into the torrent of his emotions. It was as though, now finally allowed a physical means of expression for what he had been unable to say, Grantaire could do nothing but kiss and touch and press himself as close as was possible. Grantaire held Enjolras’ face between his hands and kissed him deeply, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles at Enjolras’ temples.

Enjolras was left giddy in the wake of the kissing and emotions and, unfortunately, the remaining alcohol. He shakily separated them and swayed his head against Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire seemed slightly disgruntled but stroked a hand up and down Enjolras’ spine, touching each vertebra carefully. His other hand remained tangled in Enjolras’ hair.

“I thought you said you weren’t drunk?” Grantaire said without malice, his voice soft and playful.

“I’m not,” Enjolras said with a muffled laugh against Grantaire’s t-shirt. “I just needed some air.”

“Sure you did,” Grantaire teasingly placated.

They remained pressed close together in the doorway for some time, Grantaire holding Enjolras up with a hug and Enjolras’ breathing softly steading. It was as though they both needed some time to comprehend the new closeness between them.

Finally, pulling back to meet Grantaire’s gaze, Enjolras impishly said, “I’m guessing I was wrong in thinking you were straight.”

Grantaire laughed. “I guess so. That sort of thing doesn’t make a difference to me.” Then added with a smirk, “We don’t discriminate here. I suppose you’ve been rubbing off on me.”

Enjolras smiled shyly said, “On the tape you said you’d, err, that you’d had sex with men.”

“Out of all that footage, that is what you took from it,” Grantaire jibed. “I thought you were a nice boy?”

Enjolras flushed and went quiet, eyes flitting from Grantaire’s face.

Grantaire, apparently awaiting an excuse, hesitantly kissed Enjolras and said, “I’m playing. I get it. I was…” He considered, “A little secretive about that.”

Enjolras wanted to ask why that was but there was something more pressing. Kissing was all good and well but Grantaire had seemed adamant in his stance on a relationship. “I don’t want to pressure you, Grantaire, but,” He fidgeted, “I mean, I know we need to discuss some things but do you think that perhaps we could see if it could work between us.”

Grantaire regarded Enjolras as a slow, lazy smile crept across his features.

“What do you think that was?”

“What?”

“All that just now. You know, me kissing you.” Grantaire quirked an eyebrow, “Don’t tell me I’m that forgettable.”

“Kissing is different. You kiss people all the time. On the tape, you said-“

“Forget the tape. It doesn’t matter what I said years ago on that tape. This is different. You make it so. Forget even what I just said two minutes ago. I was speaking from a place that-” he faltered but recovered quickly. “I think what I want and what I think I ought to be allowed are two different things.”

It was Enjolras’ turn to plant a reassuring kiss on Grantaire.

Grantaire looked up and met Enjolras’ eyes.

Enjolras said softly, “Grantaire, for once, do you think, maybe, it might actually be about what you want?”

Grantaire wavered as he recognised the words and looked away in tense thought. Enjolras waited, strung up by the importance of this moment for Grantaire, the struggle with his view of himself. When Grantaire looked back the blue eyes were lit like the centre of a flame.

“I want you, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, barefaced.

“That’s just as well, because I’m yours,” Enjolras tried to fight the grin as he pulled Grantaire in for yet another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found dwelling [here](https://small---but---mighty.tumblr.com/) if you have questions or a desire for human interaction (not that human necessarily makes a difference...naturally)


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